


Smile, Breathe, And Go Slowly

by FurtherUpAndFurtherIn



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Organized Crime, Slow Build, Some Fluff, implied mavin, swearing and lots of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurtherUpAndFurtherIn/pseuds/FurtherUpAndFurtherIn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life could be better for Ray. He's a flat broke college student, forced to rent out in the shadiest part of town. He's pretty sure the guys upstairs are mobsters, which wouldn't be a deal-breaker were it not for the constant feuding with rival gangs that leads to shootouts on the streets outside and dead...things...on the doorstep. Oh, and one of their frankly terrifying friends can't seem to leave him alone. Yep, he's seen better times all right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dizziness of Freedom

"And if you're smoking weed, for fuck's sake, open a window. The fire alarms are an absolute bitch to turn off," said the landlord, stamping his feet irritably in the cold.

_If I could afford weed, you think I'd be living here?_ Ray didn't say. "No problem," he replied instead.

The landlord turned to go, then stopped. "Oh, yeah, rent. I have a good little three-strikes policy going on. You miss a payment, hey, we've all been there. I'm a nice guy, so maybe I'll even let you miss another one. You miss a third, I start taking your shit and selling it on Craigslist. If you don't have enough stuff, you're gone, buddy, you hear me? On your ass." He glanced down at the two boxes on the landing. "Is that really all your crap?"

"Nah, man, the rest is at my beach house in Hawaii, I'll have it flown in on Tuesday." Ray knew he shouldn't antagonize his landlord like this, but shit, it was cold and the man wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already guessed.

"Better not miss any payments then, kid, 'cos it looks to me like you don't have anything worth selling." At last he stormed down the stairs, the wooden beams creaking under his weight, and Ray shut the door of his new home.

It sucked. Really, really sucked. The heating was broken, the water pressure was awful, mold shadowed the bathroom tiles and the whole place held the faint but penetrating odor of dead rat. But it was cheap and close to the college and currently that was worth putting up with whatever infestations the apartment had to offer. Unconsciously, his hand rose to the spot on his chest, feeling the strangeness. Yeah. He slowly bent his knees to pick up the first box and had to gasp with pain as he straightened, which increased the agony tenfold. Biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, Ray hobbled towards his bedroom, dropped the box on the floor, and slumped onto his mattress. Lying down was okay, if he stayed on his back, and he could walk slowly and sit slowly and in fact if he did everything slowly he could just about pretend that it was really only a mild inconvenience, that it wasn't a ticking time bomb just waiting to slice open his lung. He remembered that episode of  _House,_ where the titular doctor had bitingly remarked to a patient that he had to judge the pros and cons of every glass of water.

_It's only for a few months. Just until you get on your feet again._ Hah. With an inward sigh--he could never do it for real anymore, could never breathe deeply anymore--he opened his laptop and was about to set up the wireless when he heard the familiar howls of the zombies from  _Call of Duty._ Someone upstairs was a gamer.

Selling his Xbox and all his games had been much harder than it should have been. They were just plastic and code, and he needed to scrounge up his deposit somehow. But they were his memories too, memories of a happier time, and it felt like a betrayal to pawn them off to some strangers who might be playing Frisbee with them for all he knew. _A few months. Once you're own your feet again, buy new games. Make new memories._ Again, he ordered himself to stop wallowing in self-pity and turned back to his laptop. He probably should have sold that as well, but he couldn't face the thought of walking back and forth from the library every time he needed to study. It was just an old ThinkPad that his dad had probably swiped from a school, so selling it would probably count as fencing.

Ray resolutely turned his mind to studying.

* * *

 

It was verging on one in the morning and the music seemed no quieter. If anything, it was getting  _louder._

_Okay,_ Ray decided, pulling on his hoodie,  _just go up there and inform them, politely as you can, that you've got to be at college by eight in the morning so it would be really appreciated if they turned it down. Or at least grew better taste in music._ It wasn't a difficult thing to do, was it? Slowly, slowly, he edged through the door and onto the landing. The bass was so loud and deep he could feel it in his bones, and light poured out of the door of the apartment above him. He fixed his eyes on the light and moved towards it. Slowly, slowly, trying to keep his fingers from trembling.  _Remember to breathe, Ray,_ his dad had told him, but he couldn't breathe properly now, and his stomach churned.

_Just walk up to the door..._

Someone shoved past him on the stairs.

Ray was to terrified even to scream. The light edged something dark, shiny...the man turned to glance back and Ray's breath hitched, because at first glance it looked like someone had applied a blowtorch to the guy's face. Second glance revealed it to be a mask. A fucking  _mask._

_I'm dead. I've fucking walked right into some demented Freddy Krueger fanboy._ He gripped the railing, his heart nearly drowning out the bass.

"Hey," said the masked man in a deep, musical voice. "You gatecrashing?" He nodded upstairs.

Okay, so he wasn't some crazed serial killer, just your plain old weirdo. Ray became about a hundredth of a percent less tense.

"Me? Nah, man." He tried to laugh; even to his own ears it sounded like the squeak of a squirrel who's just seen the hawk. "I, uh, I, I was just coming up to tell those guys to tone it...it down a little, 'cos I've got college tomorrow, but-but hey, on second thoughts I've decided not to be such a fucking pussy, so I'll just be going now." Still holding the railing so tightly he was gouging the wood, he began to edge back down the steps. He didn't want to show his back to that guy, no sir.

'That guy' tipped his head sideways, and then lifted the mask from his face. The shadows still obscured most of his features, but whatever the reason he wore a mask, it wasn't because he was ugly. Not at all. He looked to be in his late twenties and had some downright incredible shoulders.  _Okay, what the fuck, Ray? Making a habit of checking out guys you thought were going to stab you ten seconds ago?_ _  
_

"Well--what's your name?" the man asked.

"Ray."

"Well, Ray, I'll see if I can get Geoff to turn his crap down. You're right, it is pretty loud." He glanced up at the doorway, then back to Ray. "You sure you don't want to gatecrash? Geoff won't mind, really."

"Nah, that's cool," Ray said, already starting the slow descent down the stairs, having decided that the guy probably wasn't about to pull a gun on him.

"Be seeing you, then," the man called out after him.

_I sure as hell hope not,_ Ray thought, hugging himself loosely with his free arm. He didn't  _ever_ want to bump into him again.

 

 

* * *

Ryan watched Ray go, touching the edge of his mask with his finger. Normally he didn't give a shit if he frightened somebody while wearing it--that was more or less the point, really--but this time, it had felt wrong somehow. He had been able to see the whites in the kid's eyes, like he'd been two seconds away from a heart attack. Attempting to scare someone like that ranked on the same scale as kicking a puppy, he decided. After the kid disappeared from sight, he headed promptly up the stairs and into Geoff Ramsey's world of thundering sound and the reek of cheap spirits. 

"It sounds like a strip club in here. How are you not deaf yet?" Ryan yelled, making his way to the stereo and turning the dial until the sound receded to bearable levels. 

"Hey, it's not my fault if your eardrums are made of fucking wet paper towels or whatever," slurred Geoff, slumping into a chair. On the other couch, Jack Patillo reclined, blasting his way through the Cortana level in  _Halo 3._ He raised a hand to Ryan before quickly refocusing on the game.

"Where's Gavin?"

"Micheal's house. Or somewhere else, maybe, I don't fucking know." He took a swig of booze. "Goddamn, I want to strangle Darcy and that dumbfuck brother of his. They're good for the money, they just won't pay. Calling my bluff." He clenched his hand into a fist. "Does he think I'm just gonna let it slide? Shrug my shoulders and say hey, what's thirty grand? Nope. No fucking way. If he doesn't have the money by the end of the week I'm burning his fucking house down to the ground. With them inside it."

"But then you'd still be out thirty thousand, and you'd have cops riding your ass," Ryan pointed out.

"That's what  _I_ said," a muffled voice came from the couch.

"Well, what  _should_ I do, then?" Geoff demanded. "That money wasn't a goddamn Christmas present. I could have used that. I want it back. With interest."

"If Darcy doesn't give it to you by the end of the week..." Ryan lifted his mask up to the light. "I'll handle him. You'll get your interest."

Geoff eyed him. He might be drunk, but Geoff Ramsey was rarely stupid. You didn't live long in the underworld if you were. "And you want what, a share of the cash?"

"Nah. A favor. I might need to call it in later."

"Fuck off. I could get it out of him myself, you know. Torture's not fucking hard, just start with the fingernails and move on up from there."

Ryan did his best to hide his smile. Geoff wasn't stupid, no, but in his own way he was strangely naive. He would be serious about burning down Darcy's house, but he didn't have the stomach for the calculated precision torture required. Human beings were funny that way. You couldn't throw a rock in Los Santos without hitting someone who would be willing to pull the trigger on an innocent bystander if they were paid well enough, but hand them a piece of cloth and a bucket of water and suddenly they walked straight into some moral standards they'd have sworn they didn't have five minutes ago.

"You'd hurt him. Leave scars, physical evidence. You don't want him having that kind of leverage over you. Let me handle it, and I swear, you'll get double your money back."

"In return for  _what?_ I don't like owing favors."

"A good working relationship. You learn that you can trust me."

Now Geoff was back on familiar territory. "Hah. So that's it, then? You want to be part of it?"

Ryan nodded, slowly. "You could say that."

"Yeah, well, sorry, but I don't think we'll need a lot of torture on the heist. We were sort of planning not to hurt anyone, in fact."

"Then I can tell you it's a shit plan that's doomed to fail. See? Earning my pay already. But I don't just  _torture_ people, Geoff, as you well know. I'm a versatile kind of guy."

"That's real flattering of you, man, but you're not my type."

"Technology. Communications. Sniping. Stake-outs. You name it, it'll be done. Like I said, I'm not expecting you to take my word for it. Put me to work on Darcy."

Geoff twiddled his fingers, lost in thought. Jack had paused his game and sat up. "I know your reputation, Ryan," the bearded man said cautiously. "We mean it, Geoff and I. We don't want a bloodbath."

"I didn't come up with the "Mad King" nickname, you know," Ryan replied reproachfully. "But if you _know_ _my reputation,_ you know I get results. Always."

"All right. This isn't a promise for anything, but you can do Darcy.  _If_ he doesn't give me my money back by the end of the week." Geoff stood up and swallowed the last of the whiskey. "Good to see you again, Ryan, really. You take care on those icy roads now."

Ryan stood up too, and a thought occured to him. "You know the kid who moved in downstairs? I bumped into him on the way up."

"Oh, yeah, the landlord mentioned him. Ray...something Hispanic. Why? Is he hot?"

"Too dark. Couldn't tell," Ryan lied. Why  _was_ he asking about Ray? It just seemed an odd contradiction, a kid who was brave enough to live in the worst part of town and march up to knock on Geoff Ramsey's door in the dead of night yet trembling and clutching the rail like a drowning man to a rope. "A bit weird, isn't it? Eighteen, nineteen-year-old kid living here?"

"We're all growing up faster these days. Maybe he's in the business."

"Doubt it," said Ryan, who could always tell.


	2. All Great And Precious Things...

Ray had just dropped his shopping bags on the ground and was trying to massage circulation back into his fingers when someone barreled straight into him.

"Oh,  _breakfast!"_ squawked a very British accent as they both hit the ground. Ray threw out his arm and managed to catch his fall, while the interloper more or less bounced off him and landed in a sprawl. Ray carefully climbed to his feet and said the first thing that came into his head. "Breakfast?"

"GAVIN, YOU DUMB IDIOT, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING!" screamed someone from the floor above. Ray looked up to see a boy about his age with curly red hair storming down the steps. "YOU COULD HAVE FUCKING KILLED HIM YOU STUPID SHIT--hey man," he added to Ray in a perfectly normal tone. "Sorry bout that."

"Don't worry, it's all good," he replied, unable to think of anything else. Was there  _anyone_ in this building who was remotely normal? Still, he was surprised and not displeased to find people his own age. Could this boy have been the gamer he'd kept hearing upstairs all week? "You live here?"

"Nah," the redhead replied breezily. He pointed to the dark-haired boy on the ground, who was slowly rising. "Gavin does, upstairs." His finger moved to the noisy apartment above Ray's. 

"Your groceries have gone everywhere," Gavin said, wincing as he rubbed a bruised elbow. Ray looked down and swore under his breath.

"So  _pick them up,_ idiot, you're the one who fucking ran him over!" snapped the redhead. And again, when he turned back to Ray there was nothing in his voice but cheerful friendliness. Did this kid have some kind of internal switch? "I'm Michael, what's your name?"

"Ray," he said, still a little dazed. Pain shuddered from his chest, but he wasn't complaining--it could have been so much worse. "You don't need to do that..." he added halfheartedly to Gavin, who was hastily scooping up the shopping, though secretly he was very relieved.

"Course I do," Gavin said, straightening up with the bags. "Ow, these are  _heavy._ "

"Yeah, canned shit sucks," Micheal said knowledgeably. Belying his previous anger, he scooped out one of the bags from Gavin's whitening fingers, who promptly sagged with relief and nearly dropped the other. "Ray, where do you want this dumped?"

"Oh--just on the kitchen bench, I don't care." He unlocked the door and swung it open, lowering his head slightly to hide his embarrassment at the state of his apartment. At least it wasn't messy, though that was more simply because he had no stuff to strew around rather than any attempt at hygiene.

"Wow, this place is even worse than Geoff's!" Gavin chirped as he clomped to the kitchen bench.

"That's real diplomatic of you, Gavin, nice," Michael snipped as he followed.

"I didn't say it was his fault, did I? The landlord's a complete tosser, Geoff's always saying he's going to push him down the stairs one day..."

"Geoff says shit like that about everyone, though."

"Uh, Geoff?" Ray queried, beginning to put the goods away. 

"My dad, I guess. He adopted me," Gavin explained. "Owns the apartment above yours."

"You live alone, Ray?" Michael asked, following his lead with the groceries.

"Yeah. College student."

"That's cool, what you studying?"

"Computer systems engineering."

Gavin scrunched up his brow as though contemplating quantum physics. "That's programming and stuff, yeah?" 

"Uh, it's more like how to design and maintain embedded computers for other engineering projects, like in smartphones or gaming."

"Do you play games?" Gavin asked with more excitement, back on familiar ground.

"I used to. Don't anymore. Had to sell my gear." Ray took the last can of soup out of Michael's hands with a quick thank-you, again trying to stifle that small piece of misery.

"We play all the time," Michael said, perhaps noticing his discomfort. "Well, Gavin  _tries._ You can come join us whenever you want."

"Really?" For the first time in a long while his heart was beating faster for a reason other than pain or fear.

"Course, man. It'll be nice to play with someone who isn't a complete moron." Michael grabbed Gavin's shoulder and began to steer him to the door. "We have to go now, I'm gonna be late for work."

"Bye, Ray!" the British boy said happily. Feeling suddenly very lonely, Ray followed the two to the landing, a farewell on his lips, when  _there he was._ The masked guy from Monday, though he wasn't masked now.

"Hey, Ryan," Michael tossed over his shoulder, still pulling Gavin down the steps.  _Wait!_ Ray wanted to yell after them.  _Don't leave me with him!_ Too late.

All traces of his former happiness at perhaps having made a few friends was gone. He turned slowly to meet the guy's--Ryan's?--eyes, and tried not to swallow audibly. The glimpse of his features he'd caught on the dark steps hadn't lied: this guy was  _handsome,_ bordering on pretty really, with soft blonde hair and a strong jaw. He looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps. He had a friendly, approachable sort of face--except for the eyes. They were icy blue, and seemed to hint that he was pretty in the way of the poison arrow or coral snake. Ray had always prided himself on his instinct for knowing the dangerous types, and this guy was setting off every alarm bell he had. _  
_

"No mask today, huh?" he asked, feeling for the door behind him.

"Nope," said Ryan in the same genial tone he'd used on Monday night. He had a large bag over his shoulder, and in his other hand he held out a packet of ramen. "I think you dropped this."

Ray glanced at the packet. Gavin must have missed it while picking up the groceries. "Oh, thanks." Hesitantly, he reached out to grab the packet. His fingers briefly brushed against Ryan's, and a tingle of electricity zipped through them. Hastily he withdrew his hand and tucked the ramen packet into his hoodie, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks. Ryan hadn't appeared to notice anything; he glanced down the stairs where Gavin and Michael had left. 

"They're nice guys, you know," he said. "Michael's a bit...I think 'troubled' is the word they use for it, nowadays, isn't it? But still a nice kid."

_Troubled._ Ray had never liked that word, and nor had his dad. It just seemed to be a quick and dirty way of dismissing a person.  _The criminal was troubled. My daughter's troubled. He can't get a job because he's troubled_. Not my fault, not society's fault; he's just troubled.

"Gavin lives upstairs," added Ryan. Ray chewed his lip, wondering what he could say that would make Ryan leave without seeming too rude.

"So why do you wear a mask, then?"

He resettled the weight of the bag, and again Ray couldn't help but notice the broadness of his shoulders and forearms. "Just habit, I guess," Ryan said. Abruptly he changed the subject. "You live here on your own? Are your parents that bad?"

Ray dropped his eyes away. "I never knew my mom," he said, "and my dad died two months ago."

"Shit. I'm sorry, that's rough." Ryan rubbed a hand over the fine stubble on his cheeks. "Do you mind me asking how?"

\-- _the sudden flash of headlights, the squeal of tires, then the stars, glinting coldly on the black ice--_ _  
_

"Motorcycle accident," Ray said, softly, his vision blurring slightly through a veil of tears.

"Shit," Ryan muttered again.

"It's okay--you don't have to pretend you care," he snapped, angry at himself for wanting to cry and at Ryan for stirring up the memories. He turned on his heel and closed the door firmly between them, stopping just short of a slam.

_Breathe, Ray._

_I can't. It hurts._

* * *

 

Ryan blinked as Ray all but fled from him, his words still stinging.  _I do care,_ he wanted to call out, but he didn't think it would do any good. With a sigh he started up the stairs again.

Why did he care, anyway? It wasn't as though Ray's story was particularly unique, sad though it was. Ryan had met people with worse ghosts haunting them and hadn't felt so much as a flicker of concern. Sometimes, he  _was_ that ghost. He was pretty sure he'd created another today. Why did Ray's hit him so hard?  _Because he's young, scared and frankly beautiful,_ the cynical part of him drawled.  _Isn't that why you didn't tell him the story behind the mask? You think he'd let you take him out for dinner if he knew your moniker?_

With a shake of his head he rapped firmly on Geoff's door. The man slung it open. "Ryan," he greeted, a slight edge in his voice. "How's your day been, man?"

"Oh, eventful," Ryan said, and dropped his bag on the table. It made a rather satisfying  _thunk,_ and there might have been a slight rustle too. Jack was here again, though not gaming this time. His eyes went from the bag to Ryan several times.

Geoff was the first to speak. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Sixty-five grand. Double your money, plus interest." He grinned at their expressions. "You can say it. I'm good."

They exchanged glances, and Jack said, "It's Saturday morning. Darcy still had the rest of the day to pay up."

"He wasn't going to. Trust me on this. He was about to run. If I hadn't grabbed him when I did, you'd have been trying to pluck your money from the Maldives."

"That cocksucker," Geoff spat. "Never should have lent it to him.  _Never._ "

"I don't want to say I told you so--actually, fuck it, I do. I told you so, Geoff." The slight smile faded from Jack's face as he turned back to Ryan. "Darcy's still alive, right?"

"Yep."

"What's he doing now, then?"

"Regretting his life choices, I would imagine." Ryan liked putting on an air of nonchalance when dealing with his clients. Their slightly nauseous looks made it so much more worthwhile.

"How badly did you hurt him?" Geoff queried, his eyes edging towards the money.

"I don't know, do I look like a doctor to you? He was walking, talking and breathing, what more do you want from me? This isn't gym class. It's not neat and simple."

" _God,"_ Jack huffed, and glared at Geoff, who seemed more interested in opening the bag.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelped as he undid the zip. "You weren't fucking with me." Light glinted off the surface of the bank notes.

"I never do," Ryan reminded him, then examined a nail. "Now, about this beautiful working relationship we've got going..."

"Yeah, yeah, look, everyone who doesn't want me dead is trying to be my best friend right now. Lots of competition for a very limited number of places. And I'm still not convinced that you're all that unique in what you do. Like Jack said, we won't need torturers on the heist."

Ryan personally doubted that, but he knew Geoff wouldn't be convinced. "You wound me," he said instead. "All right, send me out on something else. Some other test."

"I don't have anything for you right now. Let me think on it." Geoff was still running his fingers through the wads of cash, savoring the feel.

"You want a room or something, Geoff?" Jack said mildly, earning him a scowl.

"Fuck off, Jack. And fuck off, Ryan, I'll call you if I end up giving any further shits about you. I have money to spend, bitches." He waved a hand towards the door in triumph.

Jack seemed to take Geoff's instruction literally, shaking his head as he put his hand on the door. He turned to Ryan.

"So you seem pretty desperate to get on this heist."

"Not as desperate as you two should be to have me. Your plan's not going to work. Too many variables, and it only takes one thing to go wrong."

"You don't even know our plan."

"I can guess the main details. You or Geoff have a man on the inside. He's mapped the bank for you and he can smuggle you inside. Once you're in, someone's going to jam communications, take out the cameras, and then you'll burn through the vault before riding off into the sunset with the cash. Am I in the ballpark?"

Jack blinked, just once. "So?"

"So it's a godawful plan. This isn't  _The Dark Knight,_ banks aren't easy to break into. Your man could crack under the pressure. His map might be wrong. You might not have the right tools for the vault, or the right jammer for the signal. A police car could be nearby. Or shit, maybe someone will be a bit smart and realize that you guys are in over your heads and pull a gun on you and take you both down."

"All right, Ryan the Bank-Robbing Expert Guy," Jack sneered, "what's your master plan, then?"

Ryan just shrugged. "I haven't been hired. Couldn't say."

"You know he's not joking about the competition, right? What if he just decides to string you around a bit, pretend he's going to hire you, then drop you for someone else at the last second?"

"If he does that," Ryan said calmly, "I'll kill him." Jack looked slightly worried at that. He hoped he was, and that he would pass on the message to Geoff.

"You're a fucking psycho, you know that, right?" Jack growled, before pushing his way out of the house.

"As opposed to paragons of virtue like you and Geoff?" Ryan said, but he didn't think Jack heard.


	3. Justice Cannot Sleep Forever

He wasn't entirely sure if it was safe, but after spending another four days listening to Gavin and Michael's whoops and laughter upstairs, accompanied by the achingly familiar sounds of video games, Ray found himself being drawn to their apartment. Like a moth to a flame.  _Or a fox to a trap,_ he added dryly.

He had tried to work out their schedules--more specifically,  _Ryan's_ schedule--but it had been a wasted effort. As best he could tell Ryan hadn't been in the building at all, and Gavin seemed to come and go as he pleased, though Michael did tend to only appear in the mornings; he probably worked late. A few times he had considered approaching them on their way down the stairs, but if one was alone they were usually out the door by the time he realized they were there, and when they were together...well, they seemed to be totally absorbed in their own world. For all their vitriolic attitudes to each other, they were closer friends than any he'd seen before, and Ray wasn't sure if there was room for a third person in there. They never stopped to knock on his door or anything, and he wondered if there was meant to be a message in that. Ray wished he understood people better.

And yet, it wasn't fear of rejection that was keeping him away (he didn't necessarily need best friends, any friend would do really--fuck, he sounded pathetic, maybe he should just start hoarding cats instead): it was Ryan, or more specifically running into Ryan. There was a feeling of destiny in the air. Like Schrodinger's Cat, Ray imagined that he was both in and not in the apartment upstairs, and that by refusing to open that door he was keeping Ryan in a state of non-existence. He also wondered if he should perhaps have himself institutionalized, because he was almost certainly losing his fucking mind. For all that he'd only met the guy twice, Ryan preyed on him; he'd even dreamed about him, though in what context he couldn't remember. He didn't even know  _why_ he was so frightened, when Ryan had not been anything but polite and pleasant to him.

But after four days of nothing, he began to gather his courage. Ryan clearly didn't live upstairs, or Ray would have seen him, which meant that the chances of running into him were actually quite low. It was still fairly early, about 9:30, so if Ryan had a job he'd probably be doing that. His mind made up, Ray began to pull himself up the stairs...

...and for the  _third fucking time_ (goddamn, this was getting so fucking OLD) someone ran into him.

"Scream and I'll kill you," a male voice hissed in his ear.

The man gripped his arm and dragged him sideways. Ray cried out as shockwaves ran through his chest, like someone had pressed a live wire through his veins. The man had his arm twisted so tightly that it would only take a small movement to break it in half.  _Please no,_ Ray whimpered silently,  _I can't take any more pain, I'm already broken--_

"You're one of his fucking kids, aren't you?" snapped the man. He smelt of sweat and urine and other unknowable filth, and his cheeks were rough with tangled stubble.

"I don't know, please, I haven't done anything--"

The man used his free hand to smash him across the face with a closed fist. The world flashed white with pain and his knees went weak; Ray tasted blood in his mouth.

"Don't fuck with me, all right? Don't give me the little innocence spiel. It annoys me and you really, really, don't want to annoy me right now. Just nod, don't say anything."

Ray nodded.

"Atta boy. Now, I want you to pass a message onto Geoff Ramsey for me. Now, now, don't go spluttering about how you've never heard of him or some other time wasting bullshit. I know you have. You tell him, from me, that unless he does what I say there will be, shall we say,  _consequences._ Just nod."

Ray nodded, trying to think through the haze of pain.

"We know it was him who fucked up Darcy. Now, I hate that rat bastard, but he's still my little brother, so I can't exactly let that sort of thing slide now, can I?" This time, Ray made no reaction at all. The man sighed, and continued. "I'm willing to put that behind us--put everything behind us--if he gives us our money back. Not the thirty grand Darcy owed him, I don't give a shit about that, the other thirty-five he stole. Oh, and Ryan Haywood. The Mad King. You know him, boy?"

_Ryan the Mad King?_ Even in the depths of his agony--he put it down to the blow to his head--Ray had to stifle a snort at the sheer cheesiness.

"Well, who gives a shit if you do or not, just tell Ramsey that we want Haywood. Alive preferably, but I wouldn't be heartbroken if he spared us the trouble.  _Adieu,_ lad. Have a nice life." The man turned to go, then reconsidered, and punched Ray twice, in the face and then the stomach. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him, too breathless even to scream. Blood trickled from a cut opened on his cheek. So lost was he in his own personal hell that he didn't see the man walk away.

* * *

 

Ray wasn't sure how long he lay there for, drifting through shades of consciousness, flashes of strangeness sparking behind his eyes. He dreamed of a motorcycle accident he hadn't been in, of blood pooling in the dark frost of a road at night. He dreamed of being thrown from an enormous height, so fast he couldn't throw out his arms to break his fall, and smashing chest-first into the hardwood steps.  _You fell, Ray,_ a voice insisted.  _It was an accident. You weren't watching your feet, being clumsy as always. You fell._

_No. I was pushed._

He dreamed of Ryan, just briefly, or perhaps it was someone else. A man in a skull mask knelt before him and brushed his cheek with gentle fingers. Ray reached out to pull the mask from his face, but to his horror he realized the mask had grown into it, and as he pulled away clumps of rotting, maggot-ridden flesh dropped to the ground.

He awoke, panting, head ringing, nausea surging. It took a thousand years for him to pull himself upright, and another century or two to stagger up the steps to Geoff Ramsey's apartment. He rang the doorbell and slumped against the wall, trying desperately not to be sick.

Gavin opened the door. "Ray? Jesus--what  _happened?"_ Ray couldn't answer; if he opened his mouth he'd probably vomit. Dimly he heard Gavin calling out for Geoff and Michael.

A mustachioed man with more tattoos on his arms than Ray'd ever seen in his life wrapped an arm around his shoulders and carefully led him to a couch, where an XBox One was blaring.  _Minecraft._

"Gavin, get me the first aid kit and some towels. Looks like someone fucked him in the head a few times, he's gonna puke and I don't want it to be on the floor," the man ordered. "Michael, get him some water and a bucket."

"Should I call an ambulance?" the fiery boy inquired. The man shook his head, and the two rushed off on their errands.

"You have an awesome mustache," Ray said hazily.

"It is pretty fuckin' fantastic, isn't it?" the man said proudly. "I'm Geoff, by the way. You're Ray, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah." Gavin arrived with the first aid kit, and even in his disorientated state Ray noted that it was the really heavy-duty kit, the kind that looked like a full surgical suite. Geoff cleaned the cut and applied a sterile dressing to it.

"You're gonna have to wear this for a few days, but I don't think it'll scar. You'll have some pretty awful bruising, though." the man said, offering Ray the bottle of water. Ray swallowed gratefully. Lying down, he felt the fog in his head begin to clear and the nausea receded a little.

"So who was it, man? Who beat you up?" Michael demanded. If he'd been a dog every hair would have been standing on end; lightning practically crackled from him. Ray made a mental note to never be the focus of rage like that. He tried to sit up, but Geoff pushed him straight back down, and he probably had a point at that.

"He was..." Ray coughed. "He was on the stairs. Said to give you a message." He tried to recite the man's words as best as he remembered. Once he was done, Gavin was pale, and Michael even more furious. Geoff stood up and placed his hands on his forehead for a few moments.

"Fuck.  _Fuck._ " He whirled around. "Gavin, call Jack, tell him to get his ass over here like five minutes ago. Turn that shit off, Michael," he said, nodding to the XBox. Without waiting for a response, Geoff pulled out his own phone and stormed into another room. Still looking like he wasn't too far away from passing out himself, Gavin dialed a number and wandered into the kitchen, speaking in a hushed tone Ray couldn't hear. Michael switched off the TV and returned to his seat by Ray's side. 

"So," Ray said hoarsely, "you mind telling me why the fuck I'm getting the shit kicked out of me in my own complex?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know, man. I don't keep track of the shit Geoff gets up to. I mean, I knew he was in some stuff, but not like this."

"Oh. You thought he was the  _friendly_ type of criminal."

Michael visibly bristled. "I'm gonna let that one slide, 'cause you've just been whacked in the head, but don't shit-talk Geoff in front of me, all right? He's a good guy, better than most, and in case you haven't noticed he's also the guy who stitched up your head, no questions asked."

Ray thought about pointing out that if it hadn't been for Geoff he wouldn't have gotten his head bashed in to begin with, but remembering his note from earlier, decided to let it go. "Yeah, all right. Sorry."

"Jack's on his way," Gavin said, reappearing in the living room. "He's a friend of ours," he added, for Ray's benefit.

_Friend, uh-huh. Partner in crime? Gang boss? Lawyer?_ _What have you gotten into, Ray?_

"What'd he say?" Michael asked.

"He said, "well fuck." Then he asked if Ray was all right." A thought seemed to occur to Gavin. "You _are_ all right, aren't you?"

"Oh, y'know. Better days. But I'm working on it." 

Geoff came out of the room, still with a face like thunder. "Ryan's coming," he told them. Even though he'd guessed that had been who Geoff was calling, the confirmation still made his stomach drop.

"So, uh, is anyone going to tell me why I got my face smashed in?" Ray asked, to hide his nervousness. Geoff sighed and sat down next to him.

"Yeah, this one's on me. There was a guy who owed me some money but he wouldn't pay it back, so I sent my acquaintance Ryan to get it out of him. From the sounds of things I'm guessing he went a little overboard. Ray, I'm sorry. I don't know how I can make up for this, but yeah, I am."

"Don't worry about it," he rasped in response. "He thought I was Gavin?"

"Or some other kid of mine. I've taken in a few over the years when they needed help. Business I'm in tends to leave a lot of kids behind, with nowhere to go and nothing to turn to except worse shit, so they end up at the mercy of what we laughably call the justice system. Or they get killed." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Like me," Gavin said. "Some guy kidnapped me from Britain to ransom to my parents. See?" He held up a hand, and Ray realized that his ring finger had been neatly snipped off. "Only my parents wouldn't pay up. The guy would have killed me, but Geoff stepped in, said he'd handle me."

"And I've regretted it ever since," Geoff grumbled.

"And how does Ryan come into this?" Ray asked, but he thought he already knew.

Geoff sighed. "Ryan's a...fixing kind of guy. That's what he's known for. If you've got a problem you can't solve, you call Ryan. If you need someone's bank details, or the key to their safety deposit, or fuckin' whatever...you call Ryan. He's got kind of a reputation. I shouldn't have used him, but I needed to test him out as a potential candidate for another job. I guess he's the equivalent of taking a nuke to a knife fight. People get angry when he's involved."

"What are you going to do now, Geoff?" Michael asked.

"Wait for Jack to show up. Kick Ryan's ass. Then kill that son of a bitch who hurt Ray. I don't tolerate hurting kids. Especially kids not even in the fucking job."

"I'm not a kid," mumbled Ray, but nobody seemed to hear him.

* * *

 

Ryan hurried up the stairs, wondering what had gone so wrong. Geoff hadn't gone into any details, and in his mind he was running through a mental checklist. What had he done? Recently, anyway?

Jack stood guard by the door, gun in hand. Ryan had expected him to look triumphant, but there was nothing in his face except anger and worry.

"What's happening?" Ryan demanded.

"You know the kid who lives downstairs? Darcy's brother Wolfgang whacked him. Thought he was one of us." Perhaps misinterpreting the reason behind Ryan's sudden rigidness, he added, "Did you not consider retribution as a possibility?"

"I  _did_ ," he hissed, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Everything I heard said that they had a Cain and Abel thing going on. That he wouldn't care if Darcy was hit by a train."

"You don't understand family too well then, do you?"

"I was told to get your money out of Darcy. Not put a hit on every member of his goddamn family."

"Not my money," Jack said in sudden disgust. "Geoff's. I don't want any part of this." He ushered Ryan through the door but didn't follow him.

They were all in the living room. The three boys were playing a video game, while Geoff leaned against the wall, lost in thought. When he saw Ryan enter he straightened up.

"What the fuck did you do to Luke Darcy to make his brother declare war on us? How could you fuck up this badly?"

Ryan ignored him, walking over to the couch. "Ray, are you all right?" He seemed so small and vulnerable, his face mottled with bruises and a large white dressing across his cheek.

"All good," Ray responded carefully. At the sound of his weak voice, a familiar dark rage began to burn in Ryan's chest. Someone was going to pay for this.

"A bit battered and sore, nothing permanent," Geoff said, with an edge sharp enough to cut. He did not like being ignored.

Ryan turned to him. "He needs to go to a hospital. Head injuries--"

"I'm not having an ambulance show up outside my building, that's as good as nailing in a fucking sign out the door saying "We're weak, come on in, it's a fucking party!" We'd have a bloodbath by nightfall."

_Good!_ Ryan hissed internally. Out loud, he said, "Then I'll drive him. Just--"

" _No_ ," Ray cried fiercely, pausing the game and struggling to his feet. Ryan noticed that his hand went straight to his chest for a second or two, and that his weight seemed to fall on one side. "No hospitals!" He seemed to be on the verge of panic.

"It's all right, X-Ray, nobody's going to make you go somewhere you don't want to!" Gavin said, trying to pull him back down. Michael took his other side, and they forced him back into a sitting position.

"You could have a serious injury. Please, Ray..." but again the boy interrupted him.

"I do have a serious injury. Some guy I've never met before in my life decided to use me as a punching bag." He looked around at all of them. "I have no idea who the fuck you people are or what you're involved in, except that it's definitely illegal. All I know is that I got caught in the middle of it, and now there are people out there who think I'm  _part_ of it. I'm done, okay? You're not taking me to the hospital or  _anywhere._ Stay the fuck away from me and my life." Although it was addressed to all of them, Ryan felt the last line was directed towards him in particular. Ray stood up again, this time more steadily, and neither Michael nor Gavin moved to stop him. "I'm going home."

Ryan knew it was useless, but he had to try one more time. "You shouldn't be alone. The effects of concussion can be very delayed..."

"Yeah, sounds like you know all about that, huh?" Ray scowled, walking past him without so much of a glance. He did look at Geoff, though. "Thanks for cleaning me up. And the water."

"No problem, man," said Geoff carefully. "You look after yourself now. We're gonna make them pay for this, don't worry." 

Ray's mouth worked bitterly, but he said nothing, merely walking out the door past Jack, who still didn't move.

When he was gone, Ryan turned back to Geoff. "You're certain it's Wolfgang Darcy?"

"Yeah. He wants the thirty-five grand, apparently. And you." 

"Me?" Ryan frowned.

"Yep, mentioned you by name. Wants you all wrapped up in a box. Or a coffin." He leaned back against the wall. "I knew those brothers were scum, but I didn't realize they'd stoop to this. Fuck me, Jack's right. Maybe I'm losing my touch."

"Let me deal with this," Ryan said, calmly.

"Fucker, you're the idiot that got us into this mess in the  _first_ place. How'd he even know where I live? Nope. You're paying for us to find a new place to live. It was Ray this time, next time it could be Gavin."

"Don't pin this all on me, Geoff.  You sent me after him. What did you think I was going to do, sweet-talk the money out of him over dinner? I don't know how he figured out where you were. I'll ask him." When Geoff glared at him, Ryan added, "This isn't a job. This is personal. You know I have the right." _  
_

"Your rights aren't worth shit," the man muttered, but he sighed. "What are you going to do? I can't kill you."

"Make like you're going to agree to his terms. Deliver me to his doorstep. Then I'll cut the fucker up so badly that his own mother won't recognize him. You can burn down his house after all. And I'll make it perfectly clear what'll happen if any more innocents are targeted. They want to play a game, I'll start by raising the stakes."

Geoff eyed him. "You can't seriously expect to take down the entire Darcy gang on your own."

"You can come along if you want. I'll have my own backup."

"Oh, yeah, I'm coming. This rat bastard piece of shit wants to make it personal, I'll give him all the personal he can fuckin' take. Call me when you have a plan. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"I'll find you a safe place," Ryan said. He glanced at Michael and Gavin. "I wasn't lying about the concussion thing. Get your boys to check on him."

"Since when the fuck do you care about people getting hurt? According to what I've heard, you've dealt out plenty of pain to kids their age."

_No,_ thought Ryan.  _They might have been born in the same year, but they weren't the same age. Your boys are boys, but they were men. They'd been men since they were fourteen and slit their first throat, fired their first gun, buried their first corpse. I know you, Geoff. You've convinced yourself that all kids are innocent. One day I might show you how wrong you are._ One day. But not today.

"Whatever," he said instead, and turned to the door, already making plans.


	4. Fear Is Pain Arising

Ray awoke to a persistent rapping on his door.

" _Coming!"_ he snapped grumpily, tugging on some clothes he found strewn across the floor. The morning light was bright even through his grimy windows, and the sky was beautifully clear. It had been very nearly the worst winter on Los Santos's record books, but it had let go of the city at last. And Ray would have much preferred to be enjoying this fact in his bed, asleep. He had been up until two AM, kept sleepless by assignments and Geoff's music. He ripped open the door, expecting to see Michael or Gavin or worse, the landlord. Wrong.

It was Ryan.

"Hello," he said. "It's eight thirty, why aren't you awake already? How's your head?"

Ray stared at him for a long, long moment, his brain struggling to process the situation. At last he grabbed the door and slammed it in Ryan's face.

Or, well, he  _tried._ Quick as a snake, Ryan's hand shot out and he pulled the door easily from Ray's hand. 

"Was there something about "stay the fuck away from me" that you found difficult to understand?" Ray hissed through gritted teeth.

"Not at all, and I fully respect your decision," Ryan said with such complete and utter sincerity that Ray could practically smell the bullshit. "But you need to get out of this place, so...we're going apartment hunting."

"Apartment...?" Something had happened during the night, he decided. Aliens must have hijacked the planet, or an experiment had gone horribly wrong, because there was no other explanation for what the fuck was going on right now.

"As you so eloquently pointed out the other night, you're in danger. Mostly thanks to me, though I want to point out that Geoff shoulders a lot of the blame too. Anyway, I've promised to find you, Geoff, and Gavin new safe places to live, and I can hardly pick out an apartment without consulting you, can I?" When Ray continued to scowl at him, he added, "Are you really so enthralled with this place? Because I have to be honest, it's awful."

"I can't afford to live anywhere else," Ray said at last, running his hand through his hair. "And I need to be close to the university."

Ryan shrugged. "I'll help you out for the first few months, at least until you get back on your feet." Ray glanced at him, surprised to hear Ryan echoing so exactly the thoughts that had been running through his mind the past weeks. "As for the college, that shouldn't pose too much of a problem."

Ray hesitated for a few more moments, then drummed his fingers on the door. "Let me shower and get dressed, okay?"

* * *

 

Sitting in a car with Ryan was  _beyond_ weird.

Ray didn't know much--or anything really--about cars, but even he could tell this was a good one. Mostly because Ryan had proudly told him that it was a Hyundai Equus, the same model used by the President of South Korea, fully armored with bulletproof glass and a unique cooling system in case of fire. He'd ordered it in from Russia. After rattling off several aspects of the engine, he seemed to notice Ray smiling and nodding, and his enthusiasm died a little. But it was still a really nice car, with the most comfortable seats Ray had ever sat in his life.

"This must have cost a fortune. How the fuck did you pay for something like this?" Ray asked, on their way to the first of Ryan's apartments.

Ryan flicked his eyes briefly from the road to Ray and back, surprised that Ray had broken the silence. "I cut a deal with someone who had ties to the manufacturers." 

Deals again. Ray sank back into his seat and wished the day was over.

"Ask you something?" Ryan asked after the silence had dragged on long enough to become uncomfortable. 

Ray thought about saying  _you just did_ or something along those lines, but decided not to be an asshole. The car doors locked automatically when the engine started, so there weren't any easy escapes. "Okay," he said instead. _  
_

"I don't mean to sound rude, but why don't you have a job?"

_He doesn't mean anything by it,_ Ray told himself, and counted to ten before he felt calm enough to answer.

"I don't have any experience in the jobs I want. I worked with my dad when I was in high school--he was a contractor. That was good, but it's not retail experience or customer service, which is what people want these days."

"Why can't you do contract work? There are plenty of college kids who survive off that." Again, the slightly-too-sincere tone was enough to tell Ray that Ryan had almost certainly already guessed the reason.  _Well, fuck him._ Ray wasn't about to admit weakness to a gangster or whatever the fuck Ryan was. He said nothing, and although Ryan once turned his head from the road to look at him--though to be fair, in his brute of a car he probably didn't have to worry much about accidents--he still didn't answer. Finally Ryan pulled into a car park, and apartment-searching began.

If the car ride was uncomfortable and weird, this was just bizarre. Ryan introduced himself to the landladies (they were all female) as Ray's brother-in-law, supposedly married to his non-existent older sister. He was even wearing a shiny new ring on his finger, and superbly played the role of a bubbly new husband eager to embrace his bestowed role as big brother. Despite himself, Ray couldn't help but join in the facade, pretending to be intensely shy and passive, keeping quiet aside from mumbles of assent when the situation called for it.

Well. Maybe it wasn't _entirely_ an act.

The apartments were all a thousand times better than Ray's downtown squat. They were designed with students in mind, fully furnished and clean, with friendly young neighbors and tolerant landladies. They weren't physically close to the college, but most of them lay along the complementary bus service the college provided. They were the sorts of places he dreamed of, less than a year ago, when he realized that he was clever enough to get into any course he liked...and he was also absolutely certain that they were all way out of his price range. Shame heated his stomach. Being broke sucked.

"So," said Ryan as they ate lunch at a cafe, "any thoughts?"

"They're all way too expensive. Even if I got a job tomorrow, I'd never afford the deposit," Ray said, picking at his burger.

Ryan munched on his sandwich and continued as though Ray had not spoken. "I really liked the one on Eagle Street. Right on the bus line. You'd have some nice-looking neighbors to chat to, as well." He meant the pair of pretty brunette sisters that had taken the rooms across the hall.

"Not really my type," Ray mumbled, not particularly wanting to get involved in a discussion about his sexuality with Ryan...though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little curious...

"No. Nor mine," Ryan agreed. Their eyes met, just briefly, and again Ray was struck by just how good-looking he was. This close, he could also smell the crisp, fresh scent of his aftershave.

Clearing his throat, Ray said, "Look, you can ignore me all you want, but the fact remains, I can't pay you back for any of this."

"And I told you--it's my fault you're in this position to begin with, so stop worrying about payment and let me handle it," Ryan said, perhaps a shade testily.

"I just don't want to be in debt with a--a criminal or a mobster or whatever the fuck you are!" Ray snapped, though not before looking over his shoulder to check that no-one was listening in. "I don't want to wind up having to owe the Russian mafia or whoever the fuck you said your friends were--" And he stopped, because Ryan was laughing.

It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in his life.

_Oh, shit. God help me, I'm so fucked._

Recovering, Ryan fixed his blue eyes on Ray's. "You won't have to owe anyone anything, I  _promise_ ," he said gently. "I'm the one paying. And I'm telling you truthfully, right now, that I am not part of any mafia, gang, or other organized crime syndicate currently in existence. I'm completely freelance."

"Apart from Geoff's mob?"

Again a small chuckle escaped from Ryan, and he plucked Ray's burger from his plate. "Geoff's little group is technically a crime racket in the same way the stray dogs that hang around your garbage are technically a wolf pack. He's a small fish in a very large pond."

"But you want to work with him."

"I do. He's smart, he has decent connections, and he's at heart a good man. He has a lot of potential once he's wised up a bit."

"And the guy that beat me up..." Ray watched a shadow fall over Ryan's face, but he hurried on. "You made a mistake there, huh?"

"Nobody's perfect. I had no reason to hurt him, so I didn't. I thought he would be glad for the opportunity I gave him. I can't tell if he's incredibly arrogant or just stupid, to go picking fights already."

"Or it could just be that you fucked up his brother." Ryan gave him an uncomprehending look, and Ray decided to let it go. "Can we go back now? I have class in the afternoon."

"Sure," Ryan agreed, swallowing the last of Ray's burger and standing up to pay.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride," Ray said, beginning the slow, steady journey up the stairs. He hated walking up and down them in front of other people, because he couldn't really hide his pain while doing it, but he just wanted to lie down and have his head straightened out.

Ryan tilted his head. "Are you still in pain from Wolfgang's assault?"

"No." In truth, the bruises on his face had yet to fade, and still hurt to the touch, but at least the headache was long gone. To distract Ryan from inquiring further, he sniffed the air. "God damn it--it smells like an animal's just gone and fucking died on the landing."

Ryan sniffed himself, then frowned, before quickly overtaking Ray on the steps. He stopped dead on Ray's floor, forcing Ray to swing around him, and all the while the nauseous reek of death grew thicker...

"Oh,  _fuck_ this shit," Ray snarled, digging his nails into his thigh. " _Fuck."_

He couldn't even tell what kind of animal it was, it was so rotted. Maggots writhed in glistening flesh, and he glimpsed hints of yellow bone under the oozing remains of its eyes.

"Do you have a bin bag or something?" Ryan asked, so softly Ray could barely hear him.

"Yeah--hang on," he said, fumbling for his keys. He didn't want to have to step over the dead thing, but there was no other way into his apartment, so he shoved his mouth and nose into the fabric of his hoodie and unlocked the door. Both he and Ryan quickly hurried into the kitchen, slamming the door behind them, and Ray rushed to open a window and breathe in mercifully clean air. He was grateful now that he hadn't eaten anything.

When the reek faded from his nostrils, he turned to find that Ryan had already disposed of the corpse and was watching him, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"You have to..." Ray swallowed. Ryan didn't  _have_ to do anything; wasn't the dead animal a painful reminder of the sort of people he was involved with? "Please, Ryan, man...make this stop. I don't..."

"It'll stop," Ryan promised in that same very quiet voice.

* * *

 Ryan clicked open the hidden compartment under the passenger seat and flicked through his files on the Darcy brothers. He could feel the rage slowly building in him, but he kept it carefully sequestered from his thoughts. There would be a time and a place for that, quite soon, but now he needed to think.

According to his files, at this time of day Wolfgang Darcy would be holding an informal sort of court in a shitty bar not too far away. He had promised Geoff that there would be a plan, that he would bring him along for the reckoning, but so what? Let Geoff extract his own vengeance. He reached out and holstered the gun that he'd hidden so as not to frighten Ray, and strapped a hunting knife to his arm, before making two phone calls: one to the bar, to confirm Wolfgang's presence, and one to an old acquaintance. Afterwards he wiped the cellphone down and tossed it out the window, starting the engine with his other hand.

He stepped into the bar, unmasked and unchallenged, and ordered a drink for the look of the thing. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wolfgang surrounded by his cronies. There were more of them than Ryan had listed, but that was to be expected, if he was taking his brother's place in the business. Perhaps that was why he'd attacked Ray--not because of this family bullshit people kept telling him, but merely to inform the other scum that here was a perfect replacement for Luke already. Ryan finished his drink, paid, and asked the bartender to deliver a note to Darcy in twenty minutes. The man looked like he was going to refuse, but something in Ryan's smile, and perhaps the fifty dollars on the bar, seemed to change his mind. Ryan walked out into the urine-scented side alley next to the bar, strapped his mask on...and waited.

Right on cue, twenty minutes later, Wolfgang Darcy sidled in to join him. Ryan's note had specified he come alone, but even Darcy wasn't quite stupid enough to do that, and he'd brought two thugs along with him.

"You broke early, Ramsey..." Darcy began affably, before catching sight of Ryan. He smiled, though it couldn't be seen through the mask.

" _Haywood!_ Kill him!" Darcy snapped to his goons, who lunged for their weapons--and how stupid were they, to not have them ready and in hand?--only to drop, almost silently, to the concrete. One of them was bald, and a rising trickle of blood could be seen on the side of his head, where a small piece of metal had lodged itself in his brain. Ryan pulled out his own weapon, almost lazily, and pointed it directly at Darcy's chest. There was no need. Darcy's piece slipped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground--he hadn't even managed to turn the safety off. He had courage, Ryan had to give him that, not bothering to beg or plead for mercy. He just looked at Ryan with nothing but raw hatred and fear.

Ryan kept the gun on him, handcuffing and gagging Darcy, before leading him to the car. Shoving the man into the back seat, he raised his hand to the rooftop in the  _all clear_ signal. The sniper Ryan had called would know his job was done, and probably go home to his wife and children and watch  _Friends,_ perhaps listening to his police scanner for reports of two men assassinated in the side alley of a bar. If a report would be made. In this part of Los Santos, police were regarded as a nuisance at best. Justice tended to be dealt out in a slightly more direct way.

Ryan took Wolfgang Darcy to a long-abandoned warehouse and bound him to an examination table, stretching him out in the crucifix pose. A thought occurred to him and he took two nails and hammered them into Darcy's palms, just for the look of the thing, while the man howled in agony.

"You listening there, man?" Ryan asked pleasantly when the screams subsided. Darcy nodded weakly, still gagged. Ryan stripped the duct tape from his mouth.

"Now, I think you know how this is gonna go. I'm going to hurt you for a while. When I'm done, I'm gonna make you promise to stay the fuck away from Geoff Ramsey and any of his crew, because if you don't, or if anyone else happens to them, I'll come after you and your entire fucking family. Then I'll probably hurt you some more, because you're lying scum and you attacked a kid." Now the rage was coming back, and this time Ryan didn't try to stop it. "He had nothing to do with Geoff, do you know that? He just happened to live in the same building. Even for you, that's fucking low."

Darcy swallowed. "I was told..."

"What was that?" Ryan asked, pressing the tip of his hunting knife right under Darcy's eye.

"...Told he was one of 'em."

"Who? Who told you?"

"Woman. Don't know her name. She was Mexican. Told me where Ramsey lived and described his kids. Said...said your boy was one of 'em."

Ryan scoffed. "You're lying." How would anyone in the industry know Ray?

Darcy managed a little laugh. "Whatever, man, you're gonna fuck me up either way. Believe me or not, I don't give a shit."

"Brave soldier. Was that why you were tough enough to leave a dead animal on his doorstep?"

"What animal?"

Ryan hit him.

"I don't know what fucking animal you're talking about!"

"No? Was it one of your friends, then?"

"Maybe it was that woman."

"Could be," Ryan agreed, and drove the knife in.


	5. Speed of Dark

"This is gonna mean war," Geoff said, running his hand through his hair.

Ryan shrugged. "Probably."

The other man looked up, infuriated at his carefree tone. "Probably? Fuck me, if it weren't for the fact that Darcy attacked the kid you've got such a fuckin' hard-on for, I'd accuse you of setting this up yourself to get in with me."

Ryan knew he was rising to the bait, but..."Excuse me,  _hard-on?_ "

"Yeah, what, do you think I'm stupid? _Oh, Ray, please let me take you to the goddamn hospital, oh please let me take you apartment hunting like we're fuckin' married,_ yeah, man, we all know where you'd like to take him. That's low, even from you."

"Do you also give Gavin and Michael this sort of crap?"

"Like...oh, what? No, man, this has got nothing to do with you being fuckin'  _gay_ or whatever you are, this has got to do with you jerking a kid around because you want to get into his pants when it's your goddamn fault that he's involved in this shit to begin with."

"Actually," said Ryan, very carefully and deliberately, choosing to ignore Geoff's other words and the spark of fury they caused, "I don't think that's true. I think Ray was already involved in  _this shit,_ as you say. Even if he didn't know it."

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"Darcy said that a Mexican woman gave him your address and told him specifically to go after Ray, claiming he was one of your kids."

"He could have been lying."

Ryan shook his head. "No. And he had no reason to. Are you sure you don't know him from somewhere? Or his relatives, maybe?"

"I can't even remember his fuckin' last name, you expect me to have his whole family on speed dial?" Geoff glanced through the floor, as if he could see Ray in his apartment beneath them. "Maybe he's pulling a fast one on us. Pretending to be all sweet and innocent as part of his shtick."

"Do you really think so?" Ryan asked, surprised at the cynicism.

"Nah, not really. What would he gain from it, anyway?"

Ryan nodded. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"What, about Ray?"

"About everything."

Geoff sighed. "I guess I don't have much of a choice. We're in this together now, you and I, though God knows I'd prefer otherwise. We've made our move, now we wait for the response."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Darcy will retaliate with violence. I indicated that there'll be some pretty severe consequences to everyone and their dog if something like that happened."

"Yeah, well, forgive me if my opinion of your judgement isn't as high as it used to be. Fuck me, I just wanted my money. I need to hire someone to hack into the bank's security mainframe..."

"Gavin won't do it?"

Now Geoff slumped back against the wall, looking years older. "He'd do it in a fuckin' microsecond if I asked him. That's the problem. He's a kid, he shouldn't be involved in a massive bank heist at his age. If this goes badly, I don't want him involved."

"Shouldn't that be Gavin's choice?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Fuck, I don't know." He pressed a hand to his face. "When I was Gavin's age, I already had two felonies and a stint in prison under my belt. God knows I made my own choices then, but I've been thinking, if I could have taken another path, if someone had maybe shown me another way, would I be here talking you you right now? I dunno, maybe it's a parent thing..."

"No, I understand," Ryan assured him. "You don't want Gavin to be in the industry?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd  _love_ to have him in my crew. He may walk and talk like an idiot, but he's quick as anything when his head's on straight. But I just don't want him feeling that he's  _got_ to be a career criminal, out of obligation to me or whatever. I want him to live his own life, not wind up spending it in prison because he followed me into a heist gone bad."

"Well, he has Michael," Ryan pointed out. "I'm sure he'd step in if he felt Gavin was succumbing to peer pressure."

"Michael. Hmm. That kid has problems of his own. He's the best fuckin' fighter I've ever seen, doesn't know when to quit, but he's got even worse anger issues than you. Dunno if he's doing more harm than good, but yeah, that's not my business." Geoff straightened up. "Now, Ray..."

Ryan tilted his head.

"...This Mexican woman. I suppose I've got to find her somehow..."

"Really? Why?"

"Because she might try for him again, maybe?"

"Why's that any of your business?"

"Seriously, man?" Geoff complained. "Because I don't want to fuckin' trip over his corpse on my way down the stairs! Why does there have to be a reason?"

"He made it pretty abundantly clear that he doesn't want any of us messing with his life."

"Tough shit. He's gonna be living on our dollar in a few weeks, the least we can do is try and prevent that money going to waste."

* * *

Ryan made his way down the stairs, lost in thought.

Geoff wasn't wrong. You didn't order hits on people without a reason, and Ryan couldn't see what anyone could have possibly gained from Ray being injured. He was a recently orphaned, broke college student; hardly likely to possess great wealth or ties to the industry. So it had to be something else, and if it was something else, they'd probably try again.

The trouble was, "Mexican woman" really wasn't much to go on. Wolfgang had sworn to the heavens and back that he didn't know her name, and his description of her was far too generic to be of any use. Considering the intelligence of the man involved, "Mexican woman" probably meant more like "vaguely ethnic-looking Latino American or even someone from the Iberian Peninsula". Considering that Los Santos alone was 48% Hispanic...well. Still, he had to try. He'd start by looking for a woman who could tolerate the Darcy family without holding her nose.

He realized that he was on Ray's landing and stopped, hesitating. Should he knock on the door? Despite his anger at Geoff's accusations of him twisting Ray around, he couldn't deny that something drew him to the sweet-faced boy. It wasn't just physical attraction, either; he wanted to know Ray, to understand why he hid himself in giant hoodies and kept his pain where he thought no-one could see.

Above all else, Ryan wanted to see him smile.

Well, he had a good enough excuse to visit--Ray did have to know about the woman who had ordered him hurt. Maybe he even knew who she might be, though Ryan seriously doubted if he would admit to that. Not to him, anyway.

He rapped on the door for several moments, then paused to listen. No movement. Nothing. He knocked again, but the apartment was as silent as the grave. Maybe he had class, or was just out. With a sigh, he left the young man's landing and continued to his car.

* * *

 

It was pretty late at night, around ten p.m., when Ray opened his door to see Michael and Gavin, bright-eyed and excited.

"S'up, X-Ray?" Gavin said happily, while Michael grinned in greeting.

He felt like maybe he should pretend to be annoyed--he had told them to leave him alone, after all--but in truth, he was lonely and bored and these two looked full of mischief, and Ray had never been able to turn away from that. "Oh, not too bad," he said instead, unable to prevent his own wry smile.

"We're going out. Wanna come with?" Michael asked.

"Uh, depends. What are we doing and where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Gavin said, raising his eyebrows in what he probably thought was an expression of intrigue.

Michael eyed him with disdain. "It's not illegal. Well, wait, yeah, it is, but it's not like  _super_ illegal, and we won't be caught, anyway."

Ray considered this. "We won't be busted?"

Michael placed a fist on his chest. "Cross my heart."

Well, what the hell. "Sure. So long as we're not stealing shit or dealing drugs."

"Nah, nothing like that." Michael led the way down the stairs and to the carpark, where a BMW and an Audi awaited.

"Where do you lot find the money for these cars?" Ray asked despite himself.

Michael smirked. "Now  _that_ is probably the super illegal stuff."

"Hey, Geoff paid for mine," Gavin said defensively. "It isn't stolen."

"Neither's mine, idiot. I think Ray's concerned more with the funding." He glanced back. "Can you drive?"

Ray shrugged. "Probably an automatic, if you don't mind going slower than ten miles an hour."

"Well, unfortunately, these are both manuals. They're better for what we have in mind. Automatics err too much on the side of caution and shift the gears too high, too early." He opened the BMW's door. "You can ride with me."

* * *

 

They stopped on a deserted section of the highway, and Michael opened his boot to pull out piles of traffic cones. He handed a stack to Ray and told him to start laying them out. Ray began to grin, understanding finally what the boys had in mind. Further up the road, Gavin was tying a streamer to two streetlights, already shaking in excitement.

They drove up about a mile and laid out more cones.

"Ready, boi?" Michael called out to Gavin, who leaped into his car in response. His heart beating almost painfully fast, Ray fastened his seatbelt and gripped the assist bar. Michael started the engine and leaned back in his seat, a king on his throne.

"Three...two...one...GO!" Gavin shrieked from the other car, and Michael revved and took off.

The streetlights turned into streaks of orange and white slicing against the night horizon, and the sheer force of acceleration kept Ray pinned to his seat. The roar of the engine made it seem almost alive. The vibration sent spears of pain into his ribs; in the moment, he couldn't imagine caring less. Michael was laughing almost manically, but his hands remained steady and calm on the wheel. Ray could see Gavin's car to their left, edging slightly ahead of them, and could easily imagine Gavin bouncing up and down in his seat, insulting them.

"Don't worry about it," Michael chuckled as they rounded a curve in the highway, "His car is better than mine, but he always fucks up the shift from fourth to fifth. We'll catch him then."

And sure enough, as the cars went even faster, Gavin's Audi seemed to hesitate and shudder for the briefest of seconds. Michael let out a derisive whoop and blasted past him, taking the last corner in breathtaking speed, slashing through the streamer and cruising to a halt just before the traffic cones. Gavin chased them down a second after, his stop slightly less smooth, leaving deep tread-marks on the bitumen. Ray wound down his window and breathed in the smells of exhaust and hot metal; against the cold air of the night, it was almost perfume.

"Well, what'd you think of that?" Michael asked, still grinning.

"Fucking incredible," Ray replied weakly, shaking his head. "Thanks for bringing me."

"No problem, man, I wanted to rub my superiority in Gavin's face." He waved at the other boy, who scowled in response and opened his door, stomping over to them.

"Thought I had you there in the middle," he grumbled.

"No fucking way. How many times do I have to tell you? Keep your foot on the fucking clutch, it's not rocket science. One day your gearbox is just gonna explode."

"Whatever," said the Brit. He brightened. "Go again?"

"Hell yeah." Michael was already wheeling his car around.

"Mind if I leave the window open?" Ray asked.

"Do whatever you want, man, so long as we don't both freeze to death."

As the cars shot away, Ray stuck his head out of the window and caught a deep breath of the icy air. The sheer cold and rushing wind lashed at his eyeballs, but for the first time in God knows how long he felt free, lost in pure exhilaration. The feeling lasted even after the race was over--he had no idea who'd won--and Michael insisted on closing the window before they both caught hypothermia.

 "You want to learn how to drive a manual, Ray?" the redhead asked.

"One of  _these?_ Shit, man, I'd probably trash it, and I don't have eighty grand around to replace it."

"Nah, don't worry." Michael grinned. "I'll teach you in Gavin's car. Stupid shit won't suspect a thing even if you do break it." He flagged down Gavin, who true to Michael's word was thrilled to lend his car.

"Right," Michael said once the three of them were in, Ray in the driver's seat. Now he sounded all business, almost like a real driving instructor. "You know what I said before about keeping the windows closed? Fuck that, keep 'em open, you need to hear the engine. Please tell me you know where the clutch is."

"I know where the clutch is," Ray chucked. "Not that fucking dumb."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised. Okay, rule number one, keep the clutch down hard whenever you're changing gears. You listening, Gavino?"

"You're teaching Ray, not me," complained the boy.

"Change the gear into neutral--the one in the middle--and turn on the engine. Keep your foot on the fucking clutch. You listening, Gavin?"

"Sod off, Michael!"

Ray joined in with the redhead's infectious laughter. He couldn't help it. Having friends was fucking  _awesome._


	6. In Itself a Tremendous Thing

Surprisingly, though, it wasn't Gavin or Michael that Ray saw the next day after drag-racing at midnight. It wasn't even Ryan.

It was Jack who was at his door, his staccato knock very different from Ryan's polite-but-persistent rapping or the boys' random thumping--and wasn't that a sign that he had already been absorbed into their tangled world, even just a little, if he had begun deducing people's identities from the way they approached his door? In the brighter place he used to occupy, he'd have considered it a cool party trick, maybe more at home on _Sherlock_ than in reality. Now it seemed more like a basic survival thing, on par with remembering to look both ways when you crossed the street.

"Uh, hello," he said to the bearded man, who seemed as uncomfortable being there as Ray was to find him.

"Hey." Jack stamped his feet and shuffled, though it wasn't particularly cold. "Mind if I come in? Feels weird, hanging out here on my own."

Ray hesitated, not particularly caring if he seemed rude. Jack wasn't visibly carrying a weapon, but that undoubtedly didn't mean shit. _Michael and Gavin trust him,_ he thought; that probably meant even less. With no sign of being offended, Jack added, "This'll only take a few minutes. There's something important you have to know--about your attacker."

If he could take a car ride and apartment hunting with Ryan, he could probably handle Jack. "All right, come in," Ray said, standing aside, feeling a little ashamed of himself for his mistrust. "Sorry, I've been a bit of an asshole these past few weeks."

"Don't worry, everyone is around here," Jack replied, making his way to the living room. "Wow. And I thought Geoff's place was a shithole."

"Hey, I do my best," Ray retorted defensively. The apartment might be one bribed safety official away from being condemned as a potential plague vector, but it was  _his_ apartment, damn it. "Why's everyone got to keep going on about it?" When Jack merely chuckled in response, sinking down into a chair, Ray added, "And why does Geoff live in a place like this anyway? I've seen Gavin's car. He could sell that and move somewhere ten times better than this."

Jack shrugged. "Geoff likes to stay off the radar. His competition finds out he lives in the worst neighborhood in the worst part of town, they think that maybe he's not competition after all. Which is a mistake." He sighed. "Unfortunately, Geoff doesn't apply the same rationale to his vehicles. Or anything else."

"Do you, uh, want coffee, or anything?" Ray couldn't even remember if he  _had_ coffee. Probably not.

"Nah, all good." The man closed his fingers and rested his chin on them. "So, about the guy who hurt you..."

"...Let me guess. Ryan, or Geoff, or both, went to him and fucked his shit up."

"Well, yes, now that you mention it," Jack said a trace awkwardly. "Ryan...dealt with things."

"Man,  _fuck_ you people," Ray spat, suddenly angry. "You couldn't have turned him in to the fucking cops, oh no, that would be  _boring,_ you've got to turn this into a goddamn gangster movie. You kicked the shit out of some guy, and his brother comes to avenge him, so what do you do? You kick the shit out of the brother. Who's gonna come to avenge  _him?_ "

"You don't have to say this to me, Ray," Jack replied calmly. "I  _know._ Believe me, I do. I don't get into the shit that Geoff and Ryan are involved with. I'm just a crappy downtown lawyer who makes most of his money hiding illegals from Immigration."

Ray blinked. That, he had not expected. "A  _lawyer?_ So why are you hanging around with criminals then?"

"Well, most people would say that technically my  _job_ is to hang around with criminals."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah...Look, Geoff is my friend, he's been my friend since forever, and I'm not going to try to rehabilitate him or turn him in or whatever. I try and make sure he doesn't go too crazy." He laughed a little bitterly. "Lately, I have not been succeeding."

"Because of Ryan?"

"He sure as shit hasn't helped, but..." Jack seemed to swallow the rest of the words back and eyed Ray. "We've kind of gotten off-topic here. Look, the idiot who attacked you said that someone as good as told him to go after you. Mentioned you by name and everything."

"I...What?" Ray pressed his knuckles to his forehead. "Wait, are you saying that someone, like, ordered him to fuck me up? No. No way. I haven't done anything to earn that."

Jack hesitated, and he seemed to be very carefully choosing his words. "Ray, when it comes down to it, we're all criminals here, so if there's anything you need to say...it won't leave this building. I promise."

_I'm not a liar!_ Ray bit back the words before he could spit them. "Dude, I'm  _eighteen._ I can't even  _drive._ I don't really think I meet the qualifications needed for a crime lord. But man, if you want to search my apartment for guns or drugs or whatever, go ahead."

"I don't think you're a criminal, Ray," Jack said, gently. "But mob figures don't order hits for no reason. You really can't think of any reason, any at all, why someone would want to hurt you? It doesn't have to be something you did...it could be a sibling, a cousin, a parent..."

"I don't have any family," Ray murmured, just softly, so Jack wouldn't know how badly that simple sentence cut him.

"You can't think of anything?"

Was there?

_No._

But there was one thing, maybe--

"No," he told Jack. "I'm sorry, but I really can't."

 "Well," he replied, drumming his fingers on the armrest, "maybe something'll come to you. Anything does, you let us know."

"Why do you care about what happens to me?" Ray asked, tipping his head. "I don't even know you guys, and you don't know me."

"Why wouldn't we care?" Jack seemed surprised. "You're in trouble and it's partly our fault."

"Because you're mobsters."

"Yeah, well..." He sighed, and tapped his fingers again. "Okay, and just for the record, this is not me trying to tell you about how you live your life or anything like that. I just wanna make sure you've got your eyes wide open and all that. Uh...Ryan. You know about him?"

"Only what Geoff said. Some sort of gangland Mr. Fixit." 

"Yeah, that's a good summary...but he's more than that. He's...not all there, you know what I mean? Out there they call him the Mad King. I know that sounds corny as shit, but if even half the crap people say about him is true, he's earned that name."

"What do people say about him?" Ray asked, feeling surprisingly calm.

Jack looked a little nervous. "That...he likes to hurt people. I mean, that he gets off on it. It's not about the money for him."

"So he's a psychopath?"

"Apparently, yeah. And things don't tend to work out real well for the people that get involved with him."

" _Your_ group is involved with him."

"Yeah, and we're not exactly on cloud fucking nine right now, are we?" Jack shook his head ruefully. "Look, I meant what I said. Your life is your life. But if I were you, I'd stay away from him."

"Kind of hard to do that when he's gonna be renting an apartment for me before too long," Ray pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." They both stood up, and Ray walked Jack to the door. "Nice talking to you, man."

"You as well. Look after yourself."

Ray closed the door after Jack and waited for the sounds of his footsteps to recede down the stairs, his chest hurting and his heart hammering fast. For a long while he did nothing, letting his thoughts swirl kaleidoscopically from one side of his head to the other. Then he went to the kitchen and rifled through a stack of paper on the bench until he found the phone number that Ryan had left him, for when Ray had made a decision about which apartment he wanted to rent.

_There is no way in hell that this is a good idea,_ he thought, but fuck it, if there was one thing his weeks of independent living had taught him, it was that he couldn't afford to be innocent any longer. He dialed.

Ryan picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, man. It's Ray."

"...Ray?" The surprise was obvious.

"Yeah, the guy you took apartment hunting earlier in the week. Can I meet with you?"

"Uh, sure, but if this is about the apartments, I mean, you can just tell me over the phone." It was working as Ray had hoped--perhaps the only way for him to be on equal terms with Ryan was to keep the older man off-balance.

"Nah, not about that. Jack stopped by and told _me_ that you told _him_ that apparently there's someone out there who may or may not want my brains splattered over the street. Can I get the real run-down from you?"

Silence. Then: "Sure. Yeah, fine. Dinner, then? You want me to--"

"Actually, are you free now? There's a coffee shop near my building, The Black Cat." He needed to keep the momentum running, to not give Ryan a chance to regain control of the situation. Plus, there was no way he could afford to actually eat out.

Ryan was quiet for so long Ray actually wondered if perhaps he'd hung up, before his deep voice sounded again. "All right, give me half an hour."

"It's a date. See you then." He ended the call and slipped his phone in his pocket, then put his hand on the wall and took a deep breath to steady himself. His entire body felt like he'd just grabbed a live wire, and his hands were shaking badly. 

"Half an hour," he said out loud, and went to get ready.

* * *

_It's a date,_ Ray had said--what the fuck did that even mean? Just general snark, or had Geoff and Jack gotten to him?

The younger guy was already waiting for Ryan at one of the outside tables, braced against the cool breeze in yet another giant hoodie and beanie. As Ryan sat down opposite him, he flashed a nervous smile which was far cuter than it had a right to be.

"Hi," Ryan said, benignly enough, he thought.

"Hey. Sorry about having to be out here--all the tables inside are packed. If you want food, you have to go up to the counter and get it."

"It's fine." Ryan shuffled in his seat. "So, Jack spoke to you?" This time, he couldn't keep the bite out of his words, though it was not directed at Ray.  _He_ had wanted to be the one to break it to Ray, not Jack, who would probably blow the thing entirely out of proportion and frighten Ray into bolting...although the lad that sat before him didn't look particularly terrified. On edge, yes, but there was a determined sort of courage pulsing from him.

"Yeah. So this person who put a hit out on me..."

"A woman. Mexican, apparently--though I wouldn't put a whole lot of stock in that." 

"Anything else?"

"No, but I'm working on it."

Ray's hand clenched into a fist. "And there you people go again.  _Why?_ Why do you give a shit what happens to me? I really don't believe for a second that someone who gets their rocks off hurting other people is doing this out of the goodness of his heart."

Ryan stared out at the street for a long, long moment. "What has Jack been telling you about me?"

"Answer the question, man."

"No." Now, he began to understand what was happening here. Ray was trying to faze him, bless his heart. He wanted truth and he thought that this was the only way he could get it, so he was calling Ryan's bluff. Unfortunately, he didn't have  _any_ cards with which to bluff with, let alone bad ones.

Ray's eyes widened very slightly, enough for Ryan to catch a sliver of white surrounding the dark pupils.  _For God's sake, stop being so afraid of me! What have I ever done to you?_ To cover his frustration, he merely repeated himself. "What did Jack say about me?"

"That you were bad news. That people call you the Mad King."

Again, Ryan paused to gather his thoughts from a miasma of fury before speaking in a deceptively mild tone. "Well, if it helps, I'm not king of anything."

"Are you trying to fuck me, man?"

"Uh, what?" Woosh! That was the sound of the conversation swinging straight back into Ray's corner.

Ray rapped the table very slightly. "Are you trying to fuck me? Everyone I meet tells me what a bad person you are, and here you are buying me lunch and renting apartments and shit. It feels an awful lot like a setup. Like you're just trying to get my guard down."

_Oh._ So things weren't as bad as he'd thought. Now he had to try not to laugh. Instead, he very quietly reached down into his pocket and pressed his gun gently to Ray's knee. The boy looked down and gasped, his face turning pale.

Ryan put the gun away. "If I wanted to hurt you, Ray, I could," he said, just softly. "I don't. Believe whatever the fuck you want about me, but I'd never hurt you."

"You just put a  _gun_ to my leg!"

Ryan tipped his head. "Ray, how else can I communicate with you when you obviously don't believe a word I say?" When he said nothing in response, Ryan decided to let it go. "So, you know as much as I do about this potential enemy of yours. Any thoughts?"

"On who it might be? Nope. Not a clue. I don't know anyone involved in that shit--other than you and Geoff's crew."

Ryan studied his face for a long, long time. There was a lie there, but he couldn't exactly nail it down, and he knew he'd never get it out of Ray unless he decided to tell him. Instead, he merely rose to his feet. "No thoughts on the apartments, then?"

"Whichever's cheapest," Ray muttered. "I really don't care."

"You should," Ryan said, more gently. "It'll probably be the last time someone'll give you a freebie that way."

Ray stood up as well, shouldering his bag. "Yeah, whatever." For a moment it seemed like they would part on those words, then Ray said, "But you still didn't answer my question."

"About...?"

"About why you're doing all this for me."

Now Ryan did smile, just a little. "Ah, that's the beauty of it--you don't know, and neither do I."

 


	7. The Lambs Lost In The Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos or commented.  
> Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I didn't want it to get too clogged with different events.

At least the next gangster Ray met didn't run into him on the stairs.

She was in his living room.

Ray had just returned from a weary day at college, and was very much looking forward to an extended period of doing nothing, followed by maybe kicking Gavin's ass in  _Halo 4._ His exhaustion wreaked hell on his perception, so it took a full five minutes to realize that a young woman was sitting on his couch, watching him with an increasingly amused expression.

"What the--holy fuck, who are you?" he blurted out.

The lady--it was impossible to think of her as anything else--looked to be in her early twenties, with brown hair falling in waves past her shoulders. " _Buenas tardes,"_ she said with a pretty smile.

Ray blinked. He liked to think he was getting a better grasp on all the weird shit that had started happening in his life, but a young woman inviting herself into his house, sitting on his couch like she owned the place and speaking Spanish seemed to be on a new level of bizarre altogether. He didn't even speak much Spanish; all he'd learned pretty much came from listening to his dad talk with his friends around a beer.  _Spanish._ Something clicked in his mind--Ryan had said that the person who'd set Darcy on him had been a Mexican woman. This woman's accent was Puerto Rican, not Mexican, but somehow he knew that it was her.

" _Hola_ ," he said carefully. " _¿Quién eres?"_ Before he made a fool of himself, he added, " _¿Hablas inglés?"_

"Yes," she replied with another mysterious smile. "I'm sorry, I thought you might be more comfortable speaking in Spanish."

"Nah, I find English hard enough," Ray said, his mouth on autopilot while he racked his brains. Was Geoff upstairs? Should he call the police? "Look, ma'am, I don't mean to be rude..." because, somehow, this woman's elegance seemed to demand this courtesy, "...but I'd like you to leave, please."

"You're brave," she said gently. Ray imagined she did everything gently, probably even slit your throat gently. She reminded him very much of Ryan: the two shared that same air of Teflon-coated affability.  _What, me, involved in crime? Sir, I'm afraid I don't know what to tell you, but you've got the wrong end of the stick there._ "Brave, but not very smart. I'm only going to ask you this once, Ray. Where is it?"

"Where's what? Look, if it's money your after, my wallet's in my pocket." He dared not put his hand away to show her; she might think he was going for a weapon and react accordingly.

"Don't play that game with me, dear.  You know perfectly well what I want." She uncrossed her legs with a rasp of nylon and stood up, and in her hand was suddenly a tiny pistol, delicate enough to fit in a handbag. "Do you know what  _this_ is?"

He shook his head, mouth dry and heart flailing.

"It's a .25 ACP," she said. "Don't worry, I'd have to try pretty hard to kill you with one of these. But believe me, these hurt, and I'm guessing you don't want blood all over your nice clean floor." Her full lip wrinkled.

"Listen, threaten me all you want, but I don't have any goddamn idea what you're talking about," Ray said, then cried out as there was a sharp  _pop_ and a flash of powder erupted from the wall behind him. He knew then, that nothing he could say would make any difference to this lady. She was convinced he had it, whatever the fuck  _it_ was, and if he didn't change his tune then he really would be bleeding out on his decidedly not clean floor.

"Next bullet goes into your foot," she smiled.

"All right. All right." He held up both his hands. "I don't have it on me right now."

"Yes, I know," she said with the patience of a schoolteacher. "Where is it?"

"Uh--in my safety deposit box," he said, his mind grabbing at the first possibility that seemed likely.

"Really?" the lady replied, seeming suspicious. "Why'd you move it there?"

Ray lifted his shoulders in a large shrug. "Why do you think, ma'am?"

She smiled again, and this time it seemed a little less vicious than her last. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

She seemed to be expecting a response, so he said, "No, ma'am."

"Carrot and stick, Ray, carrot and stick. This right now, and the animal on the doorstep, and that little business with Darcy--that's the stick. Now we can move onto the carrot. How much do you want?"

At least here it wouldn't seem odd if he hesitated. "Five million," he said, inventing a number at random. "In cash. And you and your mob never go near me again."

Her mouth curved into a smirk, and he knew that whatever _it_ was, it was worth a lot more than five million. "Done," she said. "Meet us tomorrow, ten p.m., in the rose garden by the natural history museum. At the fountain."

"It's February," he pointed out faintly. "The garden's closed."

The lady didn't even bother to respond to that, putting her gun away and padding to the door on heels that looked more like knives than footwear. "Oh, and one last thing, Ray...I'm sure a sweet lad such as you would never think of it, but if you run, we'll kill you. We have eyes on your apartment pretty much constantly, so no ideas about sneaking away, hmm? Just be there tomorrow and we'll put this nasty matter to rest." And again her similarity with Ryan burned.  _I'm a really nice person, honestly. You've just caught me on a bad day. Let's call it evens._

"I wish your father had been as accommodating. See you soon," she murmured, twitching her fingers in a wave, before walking out his door.

Ray waited, and waited, until at last the sound of her heels had faded into memory. Then he promptly ran to his bathroom and vomited straight into the toilet.

_A gun! She pointed a fucking gun at my head! I'm going to fucking die tomorrow!_

Again and again he retched until at last there was nothing left to come up. Then he just hunched over the dreadful smell, his every thought edged with red from the ripping pain in his ribs. His life may not be the greatest right now, but it was the only one he had, and until ten minutes ago it had looked slightly on the improve. Now he was as lost and broken as he'd ever been.

_I wish your father had been as accommodating._

"Dad," Ray whispered, just softly, and began to cry.

_They had argued the night before, and so there was a certain atmosphere of resentment on the last morning that Ray ever saw his father. The big man had been sorting through his toolkit, occasionally glancing over at his son, looking as though there might be an apology on his lips. But Ray kept his gaze firmly on his cereal bowl, and his dad had only spoken to say that he would be late that night, as after work he was visiting one of his friends and they lived far away._

_"Do you want to come?" his dad asked._

_Ray had shaken his head. Even then, he had been in pain; he wasn't sure if his dad had known that or not._

_And so, Ray had not been alarmed when the house was empty upon his return from college. As afternoon wore on into evening, he'd studied, performed perfunctory work on a few assignments, and settled into a long session of_ Destiny.  _From time to time he would look up and note the rapidly fading stains of sunset, but he was not worried. He had not been particularly concerned even when he went to sleep at perhaps an hour before midnight, because it was not the first time he'd been left alone all night, though it was the first time his father had done so without calling or texting him._

_He slept badly, and had woken at about five a.m., when the moon was gone but the birds were yet to sing, to a knock on the front door. He sleepily staggered to open it and looked into the sorrowful faces of two police officers._

_And then he knew._

Ray wiped his eyes on his sleeve, flushed the toilet, and began to scrub out the horrible taste with nearly half a tube of toothpaste, stopping only when his mouth was clean again. Then he called Ryan.

Fourth ring. "Ray?"

"Uh...Ryan." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Something's happened. Can you--" Was it safe? They were watching his apartment, after all...but then, they couldn't  _know_ that Ryan would be visiting him and not Geoff or any other resident in the building. "Can you come over?"

"Are you in danger?"

"Not right now."

"Give me twenty." He hung up.

* * *

 

It was more like fifteen minutes, really, before Ryan arrived. Ray wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do at all--but shit, Geoff had said that Ryan was the equivalent of a nuke, and he could damn well use a nuke in his corner right now. He opened the door and let Ryan in. The man's eyes instantly went to the bullet lodged in Ray's wall.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing over at Ray, and the look of sharp, sudden concern in those ordinarily icy blue eyes nearly brought Ray undone.

"Had a visitor," he said hoarsely. "Not Jack this time. It was the Mexican woman. Only she's not Mexican." He put a hand to his throbbing temples. "She wants something from me, I don't know what, she won't take no for an answer. She wants it tomorrow or she's gonna kill me. I...Being the fucking moron I am, I pretended like I had it, just to make her go away." He took a deep, shuddering breath.  _Don't cry. Do not cry in front of Ryan._

Ryan watched him for a little while, watched him stumbling alone on the edge, then reached out and pulled him very close. "You're not a moron," he said quietly in his ear. "Never, ever say that."

Ray gasped, and despite all his best efforts he buried his face in Ryan's shoulder and sobbed again, though this grief wasn't as raw as it had been the first time. Perhaps that was because of Ryan, his warmth and his sweet, fresh scent, or maybe he just didn't have the energy left to do it properly. "I'm scared," he rasped. "God, I'm so fucking scared. I nearly fucking wet myself when she fired the gun. I'm such a fucking coward."

"No, you're human," Ryan assured him. "Ninety-nine percent of the entire human race would have reacted the exact same way. In fact, most of those would have probably been worse."

"Ninety-nine percent, but not you, huh?"

"If someone came to my house and pointed a gun at me, then demanded an item I'd never heard of, and told me they'd kill me if I didn't give it to them?" Ryan tilted his head, and thought of the Darcy brothers. "I'd have been terrified."

"Yeah, whatever," Ray whispered, and took a calmer breath this time. "But--I am a coward, though. Just...I have an anxiety disorder. Like, diagnosed. Generalized anxiety disorder."

"You're  _not_ a coward," Ryan said firmly. Then he softened. "Anxiety, huh? Are you on medication?"

Ray shook his head. "My prescription ran out, and there's no fucking way I can afford to go to a shrink to get it renewed."

"I thought bad things happened if you suddenly went off that sort of medication."

"They do. Felt like I was going to die. Couldn't sleep, couldn't stop shaking. Felt like my brain was exploding. It went away pretty fast, though."

"Oh." They were silent for a long while, when Ray spoke again from his arms.

"She mentioned my dad," he said. "She said she wished he had been more accommodating. I don't..."

"So your dad was involved with this?"

"No! I don't know! I never saw anything like that. Never. I mean,  _maybe_ he could have just done it when I wasn't around, but..." He pulled free of Ryan, not without reluctance. "It can't be right, but it  _must_ be...Fuck, I hate this!"

"Everyone does," Ryan murmured, sitting down. "Ray, I'm sorry, but it looks like you're part of this now and that means--like it or not--you're going to have to make some changes. Changes you won't like." He expected protests, but Ray merely nodded, his dark eyes on Ryan. "Okay," he continued. "I'm going up to speak to Geoff now, and we're going to work all this shit out. But you're not going to die, Ray. I swear it. You'll be okay."

Ray didn't dare believe that...but he believed in Ryan. "All right," he said, with a nod.

It tore Ryan's heart in two, to see Ray looking so lost and frightened, and before he even knew what he was doing he leaned forward and placed the lightest of kisses on Ray's forehead. "It'll be fine," he insisted. "I promise."


	8. The Glint of Light on Broken Glass

"So we have absolutely no idea what this thing the woman's after is?" Geoff asked, taking a generous sip of whiskey.

"Well, I wouldn't say  _absolutely_ no idea," Ryan replied carefully. "We know that it's a singular thing, so it can't be drugs. She's willing to pay for it, so it's obviously not money. And Ray said he managed to fool her by telling her it was in a safety deposit box, so it must be small."

"Some kind of document, maybe," Jack mused, on the opposite chair in Geoff's apartment.

"I originally thought it was something along the lines of Ray's father's will," said Ryan, "but Ray says that's not a secret, and in any case it was just a line saying that he leaves everything to Ray. Nothing worth pulling a gun about."

"There are better ways of challenging a will than threatening children," Jack grumbled. "You have no idea how angry those  _Law and Order_ episodes make me. If you want something that someone hasn't left you, just hire a lawyer, go to court and initiate a probate. Problem solved." He tilted his head. "Maybe a secret trust?" _  
_

"Secret trust? Is that what it sounds like?"

"It's when the deceased leaves a person money, but they don't mention it in the will. It's given to the legatee, who is trusted to in turn give the money all hush-hush to the person it's intended for. It's used for the provision of mistresses, illegitimate children, that sort of thing."

"Maybe it's jewelry," said Geoff, clearly uninterested in lawyerisms. "Emerald necklace set in platinum. Or something."

"In the movies it's always diamonds," Jack smiled faintly.

Geoff snorted. "Diamonds are fuckin' rare as dicks. By which I mean they're not rare at all. Seriously, go to Africa, they have vaults packed to the fuckin' rafters with diamonds, tons mined every year. It's the biggest scam in marketing history. Stolen diamonds--if they're cut, you'd be lucky to get a couple hundred bucks for 'em. If they're not, you'll be laughed into the street."

"If it was jewelry," Ryan said, trying to get the discussion back on track, "surely Ray would have noticed."

"I don't mean to be rude, but Ray seems to have noticed shit fuckin' all about his dad, including the fact that he was running around in the underworld, so forgive me if I don't quite trust his powers of observation." Geoff poured another glass of spirits.

"Come on, Geoff," Jack said. "How much does anyone know about their parents?"

_For that matter, how much does any parent know about their child?_ Ryan wondered.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Anyway," Jack turned to Ryan, "I  _think_ I may know who this woman is. I  _think._ "

Ryan straightened up. He would never admit it, but the idea that Jack could beat him to the punch when it came to underworld figures stung his pride somewhat. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Rosa María. I don't know if that's her real name; probably not. She's a _pollero_ , a _patrones_. You know what those are?"

Ryan nodded. A  _pollero,_ sometimes known as a coyote, was someone who practiced the ancient art of _coyotaje_ \--people smuggling. And a  _patrones_ was a high-ranking member of a  _coyotaje_ mob who managed business and finance. In short, not anyone you particularly wanted to make an enemy of, especially not these days, when the drug cartels were beginning to extend their fingers into illegal immigration. 

The news rendered them silent for a little while. Then Geoff spoke, swiveling his glass and looking into its depths as though he might find answers there.

"Ray Senior was a coyote of hers. Bet you a million bucks."

"A contractor," Ryan nodded. "A--what do they call them? I don't remember. He finds the migrants work, so they can repay what they owe."

"Jack, this woman. Is she involved with the cartels?"

Jack shrugged. "My clients say no, but that she's under pressure to sell out to the Mexicans. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Could be why she wants this thing so bad," Ryan pointed out. "She'd need a lot of money to stay independent from the cartels. Or even to just get a better bargain from them."

Geoff drained his glass and cleared his throat. "The cartel. Fuck." He turned and looked over his shoulder into Gavin's room, where the boy was currently gaming. "This is...Look, I like Ray, and I feel bad for him, I really do. But this is serious shit. Shit maybe even too big for us."

"If we fuck with a cartel, that's painting a target on our heads," Jack murmured. "We'd have to run. Leave the country, even."

Ryan glanced from one worried face to the other. He understood. They had families, people at risk. It was one thing to enter into a feud with a minor  _coyotaje_ ring. Another altogether to attract the attention of a cartel that had no problems slaughtering innocents simply to prove that they could.

One of those innocents might be Ray.

"You don't know that they're going to have an interest in this," Ryan said at last. "Stands to reason that this Rosa girl won't have mentioned she has an extra hundred million or however much it's worth stashed away somewhere, if the boot's on her face. We go with Ray to the meeting, make it clear that there's been a big misunderstanding, then frighten her off. No cartels involved."

Geoff stared at him. "Not too long ago you'd have been the first person to advocate fucking off and leaving the kid to his own devices. What gives?"

Ryan met his gaze. Well, what of it? There was no reason to lie. "I like him," he admitted. "I like him a lot. I don't want to abandon him." He turned to Jack, expecting protest or anger, but the bearded lawyer merely seemed resigned. Perhaps he finally understood that even the protection of a notorious criminal was a good deal better than nothing at all.

Geoff managed to crack a smile. "I fuckin' knew it. Does he like you?"

"I really don't know. He called me. That's something. I don't want to bring it up--don't want to scare him."

"Now  _there's_ a first," Jack muttered, showing a flash of more familiar spirit.

 "Whatever happens, you treat him right, Ryan, or I'll kick the shit out of you," Geoff said with his normal bravado. Ryan looked between the three of them, hiding a smile. Just a few weeks ago he'd have never gone to these two with anything like this. He and Geoff had been sort of friends, but only in the sense that it was better to be on the other's good side, and he'd barely known anything about Jack except that the lawyer disliked him. Now here they were. Practically a crew.

All because of Ray.

"All right," said Geoff, draining his glass. "Let it never be said that I fuckin' ran to the hills before the fight even started. We'll go meet Ray's girlfriend tomorrow night and fuck her up, if we have to. All three of us?" He seemed to direct that at Jack, who considered it, then nodded. "Good. All three of us, a few of my guys, a few of Ryan's guys. I'll take Michael too, he's the best in a firefight. Say twelve of us."

"What about Gavin?" Ryan asked. When Geoff made a face, and glanced again back at the door, he added, "You're asking Michael. Gavin deserves the chance to come too, if he wants."

"Fuck. Yeah, you're right, maybe Gavin too. And tomorrow I'll take all three of 'em out to the shooting range. Ray has to know one end of a gun from another if he's gonna make it through this."

"I'll scout out the area," Ryan offered. "The rose garden by the museum--there's got to be snipe points, or she never would have chosen it. We'll want to know where they are."

Jack stood up and stretched. It was getting late. "I'll try and see if I can find out more about Rosa's gang, see if she has any serious troublemakers on her payroll."

"Good idea. Send your list to me and Geoff, and we'll see if we can convince any of them to stay at home tomorrow night." Ryan got to his feet as well. He wondered if Ray was asleep downstairs--somehow he doubted it, and not just because Geoff had his stereo cranked up again. He briefly considered stopping by, but then discarded it. He wasn't cut out for the reassuring business--he told the truth too often. Michael was staying with Ray. He'd do a better job.

"Meet here tomorrow at four to go over the final plan," Geoff said. "Ryan, Jack, try not to get noticed. Rosa has people watching the building, probably following Ray. She knows we live here. Maybe she'll even know we might help him."

"Same could be said of you, taking Ray to the gun range," Jack pointed out.

Geoff showed his teeth in a wolf's grin. "It'll be a sad fuckin' day when Geoff Ramsey can't shake off a tail from some two-bit people peddler. Tomorrow at four, bitches."

* * *

Ray glanced rather dubiously at the gun that Geoff handed to him.

"I've never shot a fucking thing in my life, man," he protested, but faintly. They'd been through all the arguments on the car ride over. He wasn't dumb--this was something he'd just have to learn if he wanted to live.

"Well, Jesus, Ray, you're off the boat and in the grand country of America now. 'Bout goddamn time you learned." Geoff was hanging up the target on the hook at the range, while Gavin and Michael were examining their guns with expert eyes.

"I don't even know what type of gun this is." _  
_

"It's a Beretta M9," said Michael. "You must have seen one before. Everyone fucking carries one. Standard-issue for the military."

"Ordinarily I'd start you with a smaller caliber, but it just wouldn't have the stopping power you need," Geoff said, turning back to them. "The bigger your caliber, the harder the recoil, and the harder the recoil, the more likely you are to shoot your foot off. We're short on time, though, so needs must."

"And you think you can turn me into a marksman with one day on the range?"

"Shit no. But hopefully I can turn you into someone who's not going to shoot himself or any of us." Geoff squeezed his shoulder with a gentleness that surprised Ray.

"I know you don't like this, Ray, and in your position I wouldn't like this either. But we're out of options. Once this is over, you can drop this gun into your toilet for all I give a shit about, but until tomorrow, you will learn to fire that gun. All right?"

Suddenly Ray felt bad for protesting, even halfheartedly. These people were putting their lives on the line for his, and he was basically a stranger. "Thanks, man," he said with as much sincerity as he could.

Michael stepped forwards and cleared his throat, before showing Ray how to check the gun safety and load his weapon. "Keep your gun loaded, but  _always_ keep the safety on, unless you're one hundred percent certain you're like, five minutes away from using it," the redhead said. "You don't want to know how many people have shot themselves in the dick because their gun went off while they were walking." All three lads shuddered simultaneously.

Next, Gavin showed Ray the correct stance and way to hold the gun.

"Are you coming tonight, as well?" Ray asked him.

"You bet! I wouldn't leave you, X-Ray."

"You could sound a little less excited, Gavin," Geoff grumbled, winding the target down to the end of the range. "All right, Ray, fire when you're ready. Remember--keep your hands  _relaxed._ Don't fight the kick. And make sure you empty the clip."

Ray took a deep breath and looked down the iron sights of the pistol. The gun didn't feel as strange in his hands as he thought it would, and an odd calmness was gripping him.

He fired.

Even through his earmuffs, it was loud--like little tiny pieces of the world were exploding. The gun kicked, but it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. The scent of cordite filled the air as a fine mist of gunpowder settled on his arms.

Geoff pulled in the target, and whistled softly.

Every one of his bullets had hit. Only two of them had actually smashed through the target's "chest", but the rest were still on the torso.

" _Damn_ ," Michael said. "It took Gavin six months to get that good."

"No, it didn't!" the boy snapped right back.

"Shut up, you two," Geoff said absentmindedly. He glanced from the target to Ray. "Well. Looks like you have a talent for this."

" _And_ he didn't even flinch when the gun went off," Gavin said wistfully.

"Well, you know. Puerto Rican. Maybe it's in the blood," Ray joked faintly, his eyes dropping to the gun in his hand. It was pleasantly warm, and felt almost...friendly.

He still didn't know how to react to the news that his dad, the man he'd always assumed was just another contractor, was actually a smuggler. But then, it made a kind of twisted sense, looking back now. His father's coworkers, who seemed to come and go with equal speed, often disappearing forever. How his dad always worked in a group--except when he was out with Ray, where they worked alone. How most of his friends didn't speak English, or else very little. How his father always changed the channel whenever the news turned to border security.

But maybe...he thought he could be all right with it, if only the work wasn't still haunting him now. He had bigger things to worry about in his life than what his dad may or may not have done.

_Tonight._ Tonight it would all be over, one way or the other. Afterwards, he'd digest the news properly, maybe get some answers from his dad's friends. Or not. He wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with it at all.

"Come on, Ray," said Geoff. "Try again. Let's see how good you can get."

 


	9. What You Seek Is Seeking You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy all, thanks again for all the comments and kudos! As I'm going to be away for a university placement, the story will be put on hold for about two weeks or so (maybe shorter).

This time, Ray did recognize Ryan's knocking...and this time, the fear that instantly welled up in response wasn't directed at the man.

"Hi," said Ryan as Ray opened the door. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm gonna puke," he admitted, then instantly wished he hadn't. It was a stupid, childish thing to say to someone who seemed the epitome of calmness, and a faint heat rose in his cheeks. "Come in," he said quickly to hide his embarrassment, standing aside.

Ryan smiled, and it really was something the way it transformed his face from handsome to beautiful. "I know what that's like," he said, shouldering his bag and heading to the living room. "I always get the worst butterflies right before a potential shoot-out." Ray thought this might be a polite lie, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Even though Michael had only been there for two days, he had managed to make more clutter than Ray had in all his weeks. Michael had brought along his XBox and games, plus a huge cache of the chips, gummy bears, soda and ice-cream that teenagers seem to require for survival. For once the apartment actually felt lived-in, and not merely a shrine to the god of sleazy landlords. 

"'Sup, Ryan," Michael said, his easy tone underlying the current of energy that seemed to be flowing through him. His fingers kept flexing and something was blazing in his eyes.

"Hi. Hope you don't mind, but can I have a word with Ray for a while?"

Ray tried not to visibly react, but he couldn't help but flush again, especially not when Michael flashed him a knowing smirk. "No problem, Rye-bread," he said cheerily, jumping off the couch and disappearing into Ray's room. Ray waited until he heard the firm click of his door shutting before turning back to Ryan.

"A nickname? Guess I really am part of the gang now," Ryan mused. His eyes landed on Ray and warmed again. "It's perfectly fine to be scared. Everyone sane would be scared."

"Are  _you_ scared?" Ray threw back at him.

"Are you accusing me of insanity?"

Ray couldn't help but chuckle a little. "Maybe. This whole thing seems to have left the realms of sanity a long fucking time ago, so I wouldn't blame you."

"Well, thanks." Ryan sat down. "I wasn't lying earlier. I'm frightened, too."  _Terrified, really,_ he didn't say,  _but not for myself._ "You handling the news about your dad okay?"

"It's...I don't know, man. I just haven't been thinking about it. Like, when Geoff first told me this morning, I couldn't believe it. Now though, looking back..." He met Ryan's eyes. "Look, whatever my dad did...he's still my dad. And I'm still me. This doesn't change me, or how he was, or anything. It's just now I know him a little better than I did before."

Ryan stared at him for a little while, then shook his head and smiled.

"What?" Ray demanded.

"It's just...wow. I don't think I would have been so sanguine about it when I was your age." He ran a hand through his hair. "I keep forgetting how much you've gone through, these past few months. It's amazing...your dad died, you lost your home, you're on the brink of poverty, and now this shit--but you're just not letting it get to you. That's pretty special."

Ray hesitated, for a long, long moment. He glanced at the doors, then back to Ryan. "Can I tell you a secret?" When Ryan nodded, he slipped into the spot on the couch next to him. This close, Ray could smell his sweet, fresh scent: a different cologne from the day they'd went apartment hunting. Maybe it was his special brand for Mexican stand offs. 

"I don't miss him as much as I should," he whispered softly, his heart beating fast.

Ryan said nothing for a little while. "Well, every relationship is different...there's no right or wrong way to grieve." When Ray didn't answer, he turned his head to him. "Do you...Is there a reason why you feel that?"

Instead, Ray asked an entirely different question. "Do you think my dad's motorcycle accident was really an accident? You don't think that maybe this Rosa woman arranged it?"

"I don't know. It's possible. Did the police ask you for a statement or get involved in any way?"

Ray shook his head. "If they did, I wasn't told."

"Sounds like they didn't find anything suspicious about the accident, so make of that what you will. Some questions you don't ever get an answer for. That's life." Something else occurred to him. "Were you in your dad's accident?"

"No. He was visiting friends. We...I didn't want to go."

Ryan glanced down briefly at Ray's chest, where even now he was sitting so as not to place any excess weight onto one side--

_I don't miss him as much as I should._

\--and one more piece slid into place. If he didn't have the entirety of the puzzle that was Ray, at least now he might just have the edges. To distract himself from the thought, he changed the topic altogether. "Geoff says you were putting Gavin and Michael to shame on the shooting range."

Ray blushed again. "Nah, man. I was barely hitting the chest. They were emptying entire clips into one tiny spot above the heart."

From what Geoff had said, he had been doing a lot better than "barely hitting", but Ryan found the sincere modesty endearing. "Well, hitting the chest is all you need, at a pinch. Besides, I really don't think there'll be any shooting. We go in, explain the situation from a position of strength, we go home."

"And then what?" Ray said softly.

Ryan felt his pulse quicken as he met his eyes. "Then..." he hesitated, and now it was his turn to be awkward. "I was sort of hoping I could take you out for dinner. Or something. It doesn't have to be, I mean--" He hurriedly shut his mouth, aware that he was about to start stammering worse than Gavin.

Feeling like he was stepping onto a tightrope stretched across the Grand Canyon, Ray reached forwards and took Ryan's hand. "I'd like that, man. A lot. Steak. Can't go wrong with steak."

"Steak it is," he mumbled.

Ray looked at him for a long moment. "We are so fucking  _bad_ at this," he said, and began to laugh. Ryan joined him, and again it was the loveliest sound he'd ever heard.

Then Ryan leaned in, gently tilted his face upwards, and kissed him three times: on the forehead, the cheek, and then finally on the mouth. Ray responded instantly, every sensation being burned into his memory, from the sweetness of Ryan's mouth to the slight rasp of bristles against his skin. His fingers slid up the forearms and shoulders he'd admired so much even on the first night they'd met, and Ryan took a sharp breath before pulling away.

"When'd you stop being afraid of me?" he asked, slightly hoarsely.

"I still am afraid of you, just a little," Ray admitted, "but shit, you're hot as fuck and you've always been there for me, even when you didn't have to. Like right now."

Ryan squeezed his hand again. "I don't want you to be scared of me. Even just a little. I meant what I said--I'd never hurt you."

Ray lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Anxiety, man. Comes with the territory." He smiled. "Well, when did you start liking me?"

"This is gonna sound cliche, but it was pretty much from the moment I met you."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. You were cute, and I thought it was pretty brave of you to come up to Geoff's in the middle of the night on your own."

"I didn't know who he was, though," Ray protested. "If I had known he was a mobster, I'd never have done it. Not in a million years."

"Well, lucky for me you  _didn't_ know." He pulled out his phone and glanced at the clock. "It's nine-thirty. We'd better get going. You know the plan?"

Ray nodded. They had met and talked at Geoff's house earlier in the day, outlining their strategy for the meeting.

"Let's roll, then. Grab your piece." He called out to Michael. "We're leaving, you can come out!"

The redhead bounced out of Ray's room so quickly that Ryan had a sneaking suspicion he might have been listening at the door. Pointedly saying nothing, he led the way down the stairs, where Jack and a girl he didn't know waited for them in the car park.

"Hey," Ray greeted them both, and held out his hand to the girl. "I'm Ray."

She gave him a mischievous smile in response. "I'm Lindsay. One of Geoff's people. You're the guy that's gonna get ganked tonight?" 

"I hope not," he said, unable to hide his nerves.

"Nah, you'll be fine. Me and Michael'll look after you." She glanced through her eyelashes at the latter, who grinned.

"You driving?" Ryan asked Jack, who looked just as apprehensive as Ray.

"Yep. You'll need both hands free for your gun."

"You don't have to come, you know," Ryan said to him in a low voice, so the youngsters couldn't hear. "This isn't your fight."

Jack glanced towards Michael and Lindsay, then up to the window of Geoff's apartment. "They're my kids too," he said, equally softly. And Ryan understood.

"Take my car, then," he said, holding out the keys. "It's, uh, better equipped for this sort of thing."

"All of us packed into Ryan's rice rocket?" Michael complained.

"My _rice rocket_ is roomy as shit," Ryan replied mildly. "Does yours have bulletproof windows and a mini-fridge?"

He instantly perked up. "Mini-fridge? Got any beer?"

"Ha, ha, ha," came the sarcastic rejoinder.

* * *

Even in the dying month of winter, the rose gardens still held a stark beauty of their own, especially with the moonlight glinting off their thorns. The cold wind sighed and Ray shivered in his hoodie. Aside from the occasional hiss of a passing car, the night was as dark and silent as a graveyard.

Geoff, Gavin and a surprisingly friendly-looking guy introduced as Burnie, had met them by their car, where Jack remained to wait. The rest of their crew was in hiding throughout the gardens, prepared for action. Ray didn't know where they were--Geoff had said they couldn't risk the slightest movement of his eyes betraying the gunmen's positions. Ray had no idea how they had managed to hide themselves on a moonlit night in a leafless garden, but they had done it; he couldn't see hide or hair of them.

"It's okay to look a little frightened. They'll be expecting that," Ryan murmured to him, giving his hand a squeeze. He was wearing his mask, and dark face paint swirled around his eyes.

"No worries there," Ray replied. "Keep a bucket ready for me."

Time slid by...then at exactly ten o'clock, another car pulled up and four people got out. Three were built like wrestlers, with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. The fourth was smaller, slighter--a woman.

"Good evening, Ray," Rosa said with the same polite smile she'd given him yesterday. Her expression grew disdainful as her eyes flicked across Ray's guards, who were also armed to the teeth. "I don't remember telling you to bring friends."

"Well, you know. They're just for insurance." His heart was roaring so loudly in his ears he could barely hear himself speak.

"Oh, of course. But there's no need for this, really. So long as you have what we agreed you'd bring." She made a gesture towards one of her wrestlers, who dropped a duffel bag on the ground in front of them.

"Show it to me, and then one of your friends can count the money as I'm sure you'll be dying to do." Her eyes landed on Geoff. "Are you entering the business, Ramsey? Did Narvaez sell me out to you as well? I don't recommend it. It's so hard to stay independent these days."

"Not a chance, lady," Geoff replied easily. "I don't hold much interest in business models that have hurting kids as part of their M.O."

She raised an eyebrow. "I see three children standing right with you, dear sir, not including of course young Ray Junior. Throw your stones through someone else's glass walls." Michael scowled ferociously.

Ryan stepped forwards, and Ray felt just a little bit of satisfaction at the alarm that swiftly flashed across Rosa's face. "There's no need for anyone to be hurt tonight," Ryan said in a silky tone. "There's been a misunderstanding here."

_This is his world,_ Ray realized.  _He's not Ryan here, he's the Mad King. However he got that stupid nickname,_  this _is his kingdom_.

Again, the eyebrow raised. "I really don't see how I could make things any clearer. Hand it over, now."

Ryan tilted his head. "I'm afraid the mistake's on your behalf, ma'am. You see, nobody here has any fucking clue what you want. Whatever secret Ray's father held, it died with him."

Rosa scoffed. "You can't seriously expect me to fall for that. From the boy's own lips I have confirmation that he has it."

"You were pointing a  _gun_ at me!" Ray snapped, goaded beyond his terror. "I wanted you out of my apartment! I don't have it! I didn't even know my dad was in business with you! Please, just leave me alone!"

And for a moment, he thought--maybe she believed him--

\--but only for a moment.

"I didn't want it to come to this," she began, and raised her hand--

_BOOM._

Ryan had sighted and fired with one single inhumanely fast movement, and she was dead before she even knew she'd been shot. 

Guns thundered and flares split the winter night. The three bodyguards hadn't been napping, but neither had Geoff's crew, and so began the deadly dance of shoot-dodge-roll-shoot. The roses were blasted into clouds of thorns and wood. Just as he'd been told, Ray slammed himself into the ground, unable to prevent a small scream as the force shuddered through his ribs. Ryan crouched in front of him, his machine gun snarling as he fired in short but lethally accurate bursts. Outnumbered and outgunned, the bodyguards died quickly--but the bullets kept coming.

" _THERE'S SHOOTERS FUCKING EVERYWHERE!"_  Michael bellowed to Geoff.  _  
_

"BACK! BACK TO THE CARS! STAY LOW!" Geoff shrieked in response.

Ray pulled himself into a crouch, and from then until the rest of his life Ryan would remember that moment, how Ray seemed to move with dreamlike slowness.

It was so dark. There was no way to tell who could have possibly done it. Geoff would always insist that one of the enemy shooters must have gotten a lucky shot, but in their deepest of hearts they all knew that in the chaos the bullet could have come from anyone's gun.

There was a sharp, stabbing pain; so different and yet so similar to the agony that had plagued Ray for so long. He felt an icy coldness touch his chest, front and back, before something burning hot trickled down his skin. His fingers rose in that familiar gesture, and brushed against a strange gap where once there had been flesh. He had the strangest thought that if he bent over he might be able to see the night through the bullet hole.

Then he fell to his knees, and the world went away.


	10. Into These Carefully Mad Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the shorter chapter, but I don't want too much to happen in one go or it just starts to drag. Thanks again for all comments and kudos.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to fucking tear them to shreds with his bare hands, flay every strip of skin, break every bone.

He couldn't do that. He fired instead, the roar of the gun in his hands becoming the only sound in the world.

" _Ryan."_ Geoff's grip was painful on his forearm, shearing through the red haze. "Ryan, it's over, they're all dead, let's get the fuck out of here before the cops show up!"

Cops? Who fucking cared? If they came, he'd kill them too.

"He's not dead--he's not dead--oh fuck, he's bleeding so much, I don't think--" That was a Jersey accent. Michael.

_He's not dead--_

_I promised that he would be okay._

Ryan lowered the gun and tore the mask from his face. There was blood on it and it wasn't his. "Let's go."

"Fucking  _finally!"_ Geoff put his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing whistle, and movement darted through the remains of the rose gardens. Ryan swung around to where Ray had fallen, to find Burnie cradling him gently in a one-person lift. All emotion had drained from Ryan, and he held out his arms. "I can take him."

Burnie shook his head. "It's fine. He's not heavy." That was true; Ray seemed like a shadow of his former self, lying limp in Burnie's arms. Michael and Gavin hovered near him. One of Michael's pant legs had been torn off and used as a crude bandage around Ray's chest, and Ryan could only wonder dully at the courage and borderline insanity it must have taken to tend to an injured person in the hell of a firefight.

An eerie silence gripped the entire world as they headed for the cars--if the cops had been called, they were in no hurry to arrive. The rose gardens had been more or less annihilated, thorns scattered across a turf lightly dusted with dew and blood. A bullet had split part of the fountain and it drunkenly vomited water across the pavement. 

Jack awaited them by the already running cars. His face was pale; he must have heard the bullets and screams, but he hadn't run. His eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of Ray, but said nothing as Geoff went to his car and pulled out a first aid kit while Burnie carefully laid Ray on the ground. Gavin went to help, and together they began to press squares of gauze to Ray's chest until at last the red stopped seeping through. He began to stir slightly under their ministrations.

"Where to?" Lindsay asked. A bullet had clipped her shoulder and she was pressing her bundled-up jacket to the affected area. Seeing it, Michael picked up his own pile of gauze and went to dress it.

"Caleb's," Geoff grunted, wrapping a final bandage around Ray. "He can treat us."

"No," said Ryan, and felt the sense of  _jamais vu_ wrap around him. "He has to go to a hospital. Not whatever backdoor doctor you're paying off." Geoff seemed to have a harsh retort ready, but Ryan didn't give him a chance. "He's going to die, Geoff. He has two fucking giant holes in his chest. He needs surgery, not band-aids."

"Ryan's right," Jack agreed heavily. "Caleb's good, but he isn't a god. He'll just tell us the same thing."

Geoff's looked at them, then at Ray, who was still drifting in a realm of semi-consciousness. Then he nodded.

He didn't say that hospitals were required by law to report all gunshot wounds to the police. He didn't say that Ray's ethnicity would instantly raise suspicions among them of a gang shooting. He didn't say that even the dumbest cop could surely make a connection between Ray's injuries and a shootout taking place just minutes earlier, and the danger that would place all of them in. They all knew it.

"I'll take him," Ryan said. "You guys get yourselves to Caleb's. There's no point us all being arrested."

"I have to tell you, Ryan, this whole martyr thing you've got going on isn't a good look for you," Geoff snapped. "In case you've forgotten, we don't have a fuckin' garage available. Jack, Michael and Lindsay'll drop you two off at the hospital while the rest of us go to Caleb's, and they'll meet us there. All right?"

"Peachy," Ryan said, feeling utterly drained. "Can we go?"

"Yes." Jack slid into Ryan's car, and the three passengers followed. Lindsay swapped places with Ryan in the front to allow him and Michael to secure Ray between them in the back. 

The car took off, Jack driving as fast as he could. Ryan gritted his teeth against every bump that caused Ray to whimper slightly, but said nothing. The faster they could get to the hospital, the greater chance of Ray's survival. Even so, Ryan was under no delusions about his recovery prospects. This wasn't the movies; gunshot wounds rarely, if ever, fully healed, especially in cases as serious as this. Ray would likely lose a considerable amount of lung from the bullet trauma alone, never mind the risk of infection or the complications of surgery. 

Lindsay looked back at them. Her face was as pale as the moon and her crimson hair a wild tangle. "Seriously--is he going to make it?"

"I don't know." He tried not to snap. "The bullet's not inside him. That's something--means they won't have to cut it out, just stitch up the damage and let him heal."

"We should have had him wear body armor," Jack said heavily.

Before Ryan could respond to this, Michael fired up. "He wasn't shot with a handgun, that was a fucking assault rifle. He'd have to be wearing full ceramic to have stopped it."

_We shouldn't have taken him with us. I should have sorted this out on my own._

Lindsay winced and put a hand back to her shoulder. "How can one kid cause so much trouble?"

"Speak for yourself," Ryan said, this time unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. "Seems to me that the only person who keeps getting hurt over this is him." The girl lowered her eyes in response.

Jack tried to steer the conversation back to politeness. "We're nearly there. Ryan, do you have a plan?"

"Yes. I'll take him in, say we were walking to our car and got caught in the crossfire of a gang fight. The rest of you guys get to your safe house."

"And you drove him here yourself instead of calling an ambulance because...?"

"Already right next to my car and thought that the ambulance would take too long. They'll call me an idiot but it's nothing that they haven't heard before."

"I'm going in with you," Lindsay said firmly.

Michael straightened up. "What? Why?"

"It makes a better cover story. I can say that Ray's my boyfriend and that Ryan's my uncle who was picking us up when we got shot at. They're way less likely to believe we were committing a crime if I'm involved." She gestured wryly to her shoulder with her good hand. "Plus, this  _really_ hurts, and I don't want to have to put up with it all the way to Caleb's."

"If you're going in, so am I," Michael insisted.

" _No."_ Jack and Ryan spoke at the same time; the bearded lawyer capitulated to him with a nod. "Michael, you have a criminal record. You can't be seen anywhere  _near_ us." Most of their safety was based on whether or not the police would or could get DNA from the rose garden. Ryan, Ray, Gavin and Lindsay had never been arrested and were not in the system, but Burnie, Geoff, Michael and plenty of others from Geoff and Ryan's hired hands were. If Michael showed up by their side at the hospital, the staff would remember the distinctive-looking boy, and if they had DNA evidence that tied him to the scene they would all be lucky to avoid life imprisonment.

"I'll be fine, Michael," Lindsay said gently. "You have to get back to Gavin. He'll be seriously freaked out over this, he needs you."

Michael gritted his teeth, but said nothing as they pulled up outside the emergency bay. 

"Good luck," Jack called as Ryan carefully gathered up Ray and strode through the doors, Lindsay trailing behind him.

* * *

 

Cold. Why was it so cold?

_Am I dead?_ How could he tell?  _What happened?_

White light blazed through his eyelids, and he heard the swell of voices. Someone attached a mask to his face, and he began to struggle, feeling as though his chest was being torn in two.

"Easy, sweetie, easy--" a woman said, touching his face, and everything went dark again.

Dreams. Nightmares, mostly. He let them swirl past him, refusing to cling too tightly to anything.

Now daylight. A woman wearing white was carefully arranging things on a side table. Red roses filled the room with their delicious scent. They'd always been his favorite flowers. Pain radiated from his chest and back.

"Where am I?" he tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry and his tongue felt completely unfamiliar; the words left his throat as a croak.

It caught the woman's attention nonetheless. "It's all right, love. Everything's all right. You're in the hospital, recovering from surgery. Some nasty person shot you, but you're coming good." She brought a cup of water to his lips.

_Shot me? How could that happen?_

"Where's my dad?" Ray asked, his voice still faint.

"I don't know, dear." Sympathy flooded her eyes, and she gently stroked his cheek. He could not remember the last time a woman had touched him with kindness.

No--he did.

_"I'm so sorry," said the police officer at his door. "Your dad was in an accident. He didn't make it. I'm sorry." She reached out and squeezed his arm._

Ray closed his eyes slowly as his memory returned. Was he about to be arrested? Where was Ryan and the others? Had they abandoned him?

"How long have I been here for?"

"You've been in the hospital for about two days." She smiled. "Your girlfriend has been by to visit. She brought you the flowers. Aren't they sweet?"

_Who?_ He certainly didn't have a girlfriend. "Can you...can I make a call...?" Even as he spoke, he felt his eyelids fluttering.

She looked at him with steady eyes. Nurse's eyes. "Tell you what. You have a sleep and something to eat, and I'll hook up the phone for you."

Ray meant to thank her, but he was already falling back asleep.


	11. A Poor Tattered Thing, But Not Unkind

"Hi," said Ryan as he stepped into the hospital room.

Ray gave him a faint attempt at a grin in response. "Hey, man. Were those flowers from you?"

"Yeah. Do you like them?"

Ray reached out and touched a deep green leaf. "They're great. How'd you know roses were my favorite flowers?"

"I didn't, actually. But you seemed like a rose kinda guy to me." He sat down on the chair next to Ray's bed.

"Thanks. Seriously. The nurses love 'em. They think they're from my girlfriend, Lindsay. I must have laid down some sweet moves on her while unconscious."

"Sorry, but we had to think of a cover story quickly and it was the best one we had."

"So why is my girlfriend's uncle visiting me in hospital?"

Ryan shrugged. "'Cause he's just a nice guy like that."

Ray let out a muffled laugh. "Dude, don't make me laugh, it hurts." 

Ryan frowned. "Do you want me to call a nurse? Get you some more meds?"

"Nah. The nurses say they want me to breathe shallowly, in case the pressure goes wonky in my lungs, so I have to suffer."

"That sounds amazingly sadistic. Are you sure this is a hospital?"

"Oh, come on, smart guy, like you didn't already know that's standard procedure for a numo...a numo..."

"Pneumothorax?"

"Go away."

Ryan chuckled and reached out to squeeze Ray's hand. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he said hesitantly, "So...dinner. You still open to the possibility?"

Ray looked slightly puzzled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

A fist unclenched in Ryan's chest. "You got shot."

"Yeah, but that wasn't your fault."

_Wasn't it?_ Ryan wondered.  _I should have dealt with Rosa on my own._

"Anyway," Ray continued, "you know, this just means I have to treasure what I've got and so on. You know, like in the Pokemon movie."

"I, uh, don't think I watched that one."

"Oh, man, did you miss out." He tried to sit up, then sank straight back down with a wince. "Anyway. What happened to the others?"

"A few scrapes, but nobody got hurt as bad as you did. Geoff, Gavin and Michael are laying low. Jack doesn't think the cops are after them, but they don't want to draw attention to themselves. Jack is just continuing on as normal, and keeping his ears pricked if there's going to be an investigation heading our way."

"Does he think there will be?"

Ryan shrugged again. "I mean, we trashed the rose garden right outside the museum. They can't ignore that, it wasn't in a ghetto or anything. But at the same time, all they're going to find is a bunch of dead Mexican gangsters and bullet casings. With a bit of luck, the police won't think it's anything beyond the obvious. Everyone knew that Rosa was in with the cartels, so hopefully they'll get the spotlight."

"Hopefully?"

"Well, it depends. A few of our people got clipped with bullets, and some of them have their DNA logged. If the police do a full sweep, then we might be in trouble. But don't worry about it," he added, seeing the fear flash in Ray's eyes, "if anything like that happens, Jack will warn us. He has good informants."

"And what is Jack gonna do when the bar strips him of his lawyer license or whatever because he's tipping off criminals?"

Ryan considered answering, then decided against it.  _Not yet._ He hadn't quite made up if his mind if he still wanted to participate in Geoff's heist. On one hand, there was no better time than now to flee the country with millions of dollars in his accounts. He was pushing his luck, he'd had a few bad misses. Time to start over somewhere new. But on the other hand, there was Ray. Ryan didn't want to leave him, but he couldn't imagine Ray ever participating in a bank heist.

Ray seemed to take his silence as an answer. "The cops spoke to me the other day."

"What did you tell them?"

"What you said to, over the phone. That I was being picked up by you from a friend's house, and suddenly people started shooting."

"You think they bought it?"

"Dunno. They haven't been back. That's something." He flexed his fingers moodily. "I wish I could get out of this hospital. There's nothing to do here except watch crappy daytime soaps and 24-hour news. I kinda thought maybe I'd be on it, but no, not important enough, I guess."

"Do you  _want_ to be at the center of attention right now?" Ryan queried. _  
_

"Hey, shut up. I've been shot, I'm allowed to be hypocritical."

"Maybe they'd let me hook up my XBox to this TV. You could play that."

Ray lifted his head. "You play?"

"I'm a PC guy mostly, but yeah, I do."

"What's your tag? We absolutely have to--" Suddenly a bit of light went out of Ray's eyes and he slumped back down into his pillows. "Actually, never mind."

Once again, he seemed very tired and small. Ryan stood up, went over to him, and lightly kissed his cheek. "I'll see you again soon. Later today."

"Thanks."  His eyes were already beginning to drift shut, and Ryan let himself out. An older gentleman who seemed just as weary in his own way as the boy in the bed was waiting for him outside.

"Hello, sir. I'm Dr. Harper, Ray's doctor. Do you mind me taking a moment of your time?"

"Not a problem." Ryan slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the doctor to an empty room.

"You're his uncle?" said Dr. Harper, closing the door behind him.

"His girlfriend's uncle, actually. But he lost his father a while ago, so I've kinda been looking out for him."

"That's commendable." The doctor rubbed his eyes, and Ryan felt a pang of sympathy. He knew the look of a man who was currently existing entirely on a mixture of coffee and willpower. Clearing his throat, Harper went on. "Well, I'm not sure if Ray told you this or not, but as part of standard procedure with chest surgery we obviously have to perform x-rays of the chest, and there was a certain aberration that sent up a red flag to us. Now, ordinarily, this would be a matter for Ray personally, but when his radiologist raised the issue with him he became...defensive." Harper paused, seeming to want some sort of acknowledgement.

"He didn't mention any of this to me," Ryan admitted. The room felt several degrees colder, and he knew that something was coming up that he would not be able to ignore.

"We examined the x-rays and determined the injury took place before Ray turned eighteen, which makes the situation, well...complicated." He took a deep breath. "There is an extremely evident break in Ray's fourth left rib and it is currently resting within lung tissue. This is the sort of injury that is normally inflicted when being thrown to the ground at great force, or a blow to the chest. At first, we believed it to be an injury inflicted during his father's motorcycle accident, but the police say he was not involved in that crash." He shot Ryan an almost pleading look, wanting very badly to be wrong.

Ryan nodded, slowly. "That's right."

Harper was silent for a few seconds. "If not an automobile accident, the other time we normally see this type of break is when treating victims of domestic abuse. It is a common injury to those who have been thrown or pushed down flights of stairs...I truly do hate putting this burden on you, sir, when you are not family, but...do you think it possible that Ray could have been physically abused in this way?"

And there it was. The last, final piece.  _I don't miss him as much as I should._ Both a warning and a cry for help.

Ryan chose his next words carefully. "I didn't know Ray's father," he said finally. "Ray has...spoken about him on occasion, but...didn't mention this."

"Children rarely ever do. Like I said, we did try to speak to Ray about this ourselves, but he refused to interact with us. We were hoping that maybe--"

"I'll speak to him. Definitely."  _Oh yes._

"It's not just that," Harper said apologetically. "I mentioned that the tip of the rib is resting in lung tissue. There is a chance that any sudden movement to Ray's chest could force it upwards and puncture his lung. Should that happen anywhere other than a hospital, it may prove fatal." He said it in a tone that indicated  _may_ almost certainly meant  _will._ "Even if that doesn't occur, the lung tissue is still inflamed and there is a serious chance of infection, especially with his recent injury. If that occurs, we would have to remove even more of his lung. Possibly even all of it. You can live with one lung, but combined with the tissue we had to remove from his other...He would never be able to run or swim or play contact sports. Even climbing stairs would prove extremely difficult. We want him to undergo surgery to remove the damaged rib entirely. If we do that, we can give him antibiotics for the lung and he should be able to keep all of it."

"He's refusing the surgery?"

"Yes. We can't and won't perform surgery against his consent, of course, so I was hoping that you and his young lady might be able to change his mind."

"He'll have the surgery," Ryan promised, and he heard the steel in his own voice.


	12. It Deepens Like A Coastal Shelf

It took almost all Ryan's considerable willpower to not turn around and storm back into Ray's hospital room.

_He's just been told that he's inches away from death every time he breaks into a jog,_ he reminded himself firmly. _He's already in hospital because he's been shot at due to his dad's previously unknown crime connections, and the police could come bursting into his room at any moment. He's hurt and scared. Give him a little bit of time. Maybe he'll come to terms with this on his own._ It wasn't likely, but it was possible.

So he gave it a day. He called in on Geoff and the crew in the meantime.

"'Sup, Rye-bread?" Michael said. They were in Geoff's new apartment, in a slightly (slightly) spiffier part of town. Ryan noted that Geoff and Gavin hadn't really unpacked anything bar their gaming consoles, and were using the previous inhabitants' furniture.

"Hi," he said. "You're living here, now?" Michael's name was written on one of the boxes in heavy black marker, and Ryan felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy. _If there's any symptom of a hard life,_ he thought to himself, _it's the ability to fit the entirety of it into a lone cardboard box._

"Yeah. I guess you probably already know--once this heist is done, Geoff, Jack and Gavin are out of this country. I'm going with them. Just have to rustle up a passport and shit first."

"You won't miss America?" Ryan asked curiously.

The boy gave a shrug. "I guess I'll miss the bagels, maybe. But nah, there's nothing really keeping me here."

"You don't have any family?"

"None worth staying for. What about you? Are you going to ditch town?"

"I don't know. I have a few ties here, still."

"Like Ray?" Michael said cheekily. Ryan tried to give him a hard stare, but he seemed unaffected. "Well, it's your life. Why don't you take him with you?"

"Look, we've known each other for..." He shook his head, trying to remember. "A month or so? Not near long enough. We're not even dating."

"Running away to Paris would make a hell of a great first date, though."

"Is that where you're going? Paris?"

Michael smirked, noting the change of subject. He decided to accept victory gracefully. "No clue. Geoff just said "not near Ryan", but I think he was probably joking. I don't speak any French, though. Do you think that'll be a drawback?"

_"J'imagine donc,_ " said Ryan with a shrug of his own.

At that moment, the front door opened and Geoff came in. "Oh, it's you."

"No need to contain your excitement, Geoff," said Ryan, with a touch of warmth nevertheless. "How's your gang?"

"Everyone's fine. Lindsay's healing up nicely. Anyway, I wanted to speak to you, but I couldn't be assed calling, so it's good you're here. How's my favorite gardener doing?"

"Uh, Ray? He's..." Ryan paused. "Recovering. Physically, at least."

"Yeah, well, your first gunshot wound's always the hardest. Kind of like your first stint in prison."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to prison?"

"Fuck no. I've been waiting and waiting, but Jack hasn't heard anything. We may have gotten away with the whole goddamn thing." "But you're still going to flee the country?" Ryan asked, pointing to one of the boxes. Geoff twisted his mouth. "It was always the plan, you know, right there in the back of my mind. I'm sick of this shithole, to be honest. And there's too many people out there who know me now. So I'm doing this heist, them I'm pissing off to Europe. Jack's working out the details, but he thinks it'll probably be Switzerland."

"Jack's running, too?"

"Fuck yeah he is. The whole reason he joined my heist in the first place is because he wants to get out of his shitty downtown office bailing immigrants out of jail."

"I still think the heist is too risky," Ryan said, crossing his arms in preparation for the inevitable argument.

So he was surprised when Geoff merely said: "Look, Ryan, we don't have a lot of options and the ones we do have are shitty. You're right, the heist is risky. So is staying here and continuing with the business. So is trying to go legit and spend the rest of our lives hoping that the cartels don't work out we killed one of their potential partners. It all fuckin' sucks. So I'm taking the punt on the option that means we only have to risk ourselves once."

"Fair enough," Ryan said with a nod.

"Are you still in or not?"

"The heist? Absolutely. Making a break for it? Still thinking about it."

"It's a big decision. Still, you look out for yourself. Don't go all stupid and throw yourself away over the kid. You might be a psycho, but I've kinda become accustomed to your face."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "That might just be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah, I know, I'm feeling a little nauseous myself. So, did you just come over here to check on things, or...?"

"Just that." He turned to the door, then hesitated. "Geoff, did your parents ever abuse you?"

Geoff tilted his head. "That's a pretty fuckin' strange thing to ask someone, man. Why?"

"Just curious."

He shrugged. "My dad could be a bit of an asshole when he'd had too much to drink, I guess. Picked up a few bruises from him." He said it so nonchalantly.

"Ah...thanks. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, same here. Say hello to the Mexican kid for me."

* * *

 

Ryan stepped out into the bright spring sunshine and took a breath.

Why was the world so like this? Ryan had been in the industry for more than twelve years and he could probably count on his hands the number of people he'd met in it who hadn't had shitty parents. Michael's, he knew, had thrown him out of the house at fourteen, unable to cope with what could be politely termed as his personality. Gavin's had all but sold him, refusing to pay a ransom that would save his life. Ryan's own parents...well, the best that could be said of them was that they hadn't treated him with any overt malice. A poem had been rattling around his head all day. Larkin. _This Be The Verse._

_They fuck you up, your mum and dad,_  
_They may not mean to, but they do._  
_They fill you with the faults they had,_  
_And add some extra, just for you._

Time to go to the hospital.

* * *

 

 

"Hey, man." It was clear that Ray didn't have any idea of what was about to happen.

"Hello." Ryan pulled the chair close to his bed and sat down. "How are you feeling?"

"Just the same." He reached for one of the roses. "These things last longer than I thought they would. I expected there to be shit all over the carpet by now." He paused, seemingly waiting for a response. "Uh...so how you doing, then?"

"I'm okay." Ryan leaned forwards, wishing he knew how to start. He was one step removed from a hitman, for Christ's sake. He didn't know anything about this. "I spoke with your doctor yesterday."

"Oh...oh yeah?" A tiny sparkle of resentment in those normally gentle eyes.

"Yes. He said they noticed something unusual about your x-rays." There. It was said. It floated between them, almost visibly.

Ray's nails dug into his palms. "Why the fuck is my doctor telling randoms about my x-rays? What happened to patient privilege or whatever the fuck it's called?"

"That only applies in a court of law, Ray."

"Just...Why are you gossiping with my doctor, Ryan? Why can't you just fucking mind your own business?" There was a strange kind of desperation in his face.

Ryan refused to let himself be drawn into an argument. "You're going to die, Ray. And you know it."

"Shut up. Shut the goddamn fuck up. You don't know that. The doctor said that? He's lying. Just wants to make a quick fucking buck."

"No." Ryan reached out for Ray's hand, but he ripped his arm away--and the sharp, sudden movement drew an involuntary gasp of pain. Maybe it was from the surgery. Perhaps it wasn't.

"Why don't you miss your dad?" Ryan asked in the softest of voices.

"It's none of your business. It's..." Ray took a ragged breath, his eyes reddening. "Please, just...get out."

"Listen to me. Listen now. He's dead. You don't owe him anything, and there's no reason to keep on protecting him. I know, I _know_ , how hard it is. It's not like they say it is in the movies. It's not all the time, is it? Ninety-five days out of a hundred he was your dad, and you loved him, and he loved you. But the other five days...He wasn't, was he?"

Ray said nothing, trying to hold back sobs with deep, shuddering breaths--except of course he couldn't breathe deeply, because there was a hole in his chest and a piece of bone spearing through his lung, and his fist kept slamming into the pillow as agony shot through him with each gasp. Ryan hated this, hated himself, hated the doctors who wouldn't give Ray more painkillers, and above all else felt a surge of raw fury towards a man he'd never met and the marks he left that ended up outliving him.

"You could die, Ray. Don't let that be his legacy to you. You're so clever and funny and kind...you could have so much more than this. The pain can stop, you can be fixed. You can have the life you've always wanted. But you need to be brave now. As brave as you were when we went out to meet Rosa." He stood up. "This is your choice, and _only_ your choice. Nobody else is going to take this decision out of your hands." He thought, suddenly, of Geoff and his heist, and his insistence that it was better to take one big risk now than live the rest of his life in fear. _And Gavin's life too?_ "If you still decide not to have the surgery...Well. It's up to you. I'll support you no matter what you do. But...Just make sure that it really is you making the choice, not your dad."

He was about to walk out the door, leave Ray in peace, when a soft voice called him back.

Ray was making no attempt to hide his anguish now, and his arm was wrapped tightly around his midsection. "It wasn't all the time," he said hoarsely. Ryan came back to him, and reached for his hand. This time, Ray didn't pull away. His skin was cold and pale. Gently, so gently, Ryan reached out with his other hand and brushed his fingers across his chest. "How did this happen?" "It was...I saw something. Something I shouldn't have." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape from the memories. "We argued. I was going to run to my room, slam the door, you know, just to prove a point...But at the top of the stairs I..."

_\--a sudden, sharp movement, and his weight pitches forwards. His feet don't move fast enough to catch him and his chest hits the edge of the stairs, so hard that the pain blacks him out. He wakes up, looking into his dad's face..."You fell...come on, you're not hurt..."_

_I didn't fall, though, Dad, did I? And I was hurt._

"It wasn't all the time," he said again, in a whisper.


	13. The Only Good Fight There Is

"You're crashing with us for the time being," Geoff said as he steered Ray into the living room. "Once we're gone--or dead, whichever the fuck--you can use this place if you'd like. I paid four months' rent in advance, so you're all good. Unless you still want whatever mansion Ryan's bought for you?"

Ray shook his head. Geoff's second apartment was nowhere near as nice as the lodgings Ryan had shown him, but it was quiet and had a working elevator. The other apartments had people tramping in and out all day and a lot of stairs. "I'm going to drop out of college for the time being. It's too much for me to handle. It was pretty fucking retarded of me to try." He glanced around. "There's only three bedrooms here, though. Where do I sleep?"

"Oh, you can use my room," Michael offered. "I'll go on the couch."

"Don't be stupid, I can't steal your room from you," Ray protested.

"It's fine. Geoff's couch is comfortable as shit. Anyway, it'll only be for a few more weeks before it's off to Swit-zer-laand!" He drew out the last word into a sing-song tone. "So they speak German in Switzerland, only it's not  _real_ German, apparently. Or so Wikipedia says."

"Swiss German," Ryan supplied as he came in. Ray smiled at him and felt his heart stumble a little as he received one back.

Things were still a little awkward between them; Ray couldn't quite forgive himself for breaking down so badly in front of Ryan, who in turn seemed to feel terribly guilty about staging an intervention while he was already hurting. But it was done, and Ray was coming home--or, well, to  _someone's_ home--after his second surgery. He took a deep breath, and reveled in the way it went all the way through his lungs without pain. There was still a slightly strange sensation as his pleura pressed against where his rib should have been, but it was infinitely better than what it had been.

He couldn't forgive himself for being so stupid about that, either. So stubborn and proud.

So he and Ryan hadn't spoken much, just kept on their daily lives and met each other's eyes when the situation called for it. They were still friends, right? Even though it felt like he might die inside every time Ryan came too near, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. And anyway, Ryan was leaving soon, wasn't he? Running away to Switzerland or wherever with several million dollars stashed in the bank account.

Yeah. Better this way.

"I had a thought, while I was in hospital," Ray began, cautiously. If it turned out to be nothing, man, was he going to have some egg on his face. "I...Before my dad died,  I walked in on him...well, with something."

"A fleshlight?" Michael said, too innocently.

"I--Damn it." He'd walked right into that one. "No. It was a big sheet of paper. I couldn't see what it was, though, because my dad got really angry with me. He didn't want me to see it."

_He'd been drinking, the pungent reek of spirits saturating the air._ Ray! Get the fuck out! Don't you know how to knock?

Sorry, Dad. _He turned around, but a little prickle of anger and resentment stabbed in his gut._ Wouldn't want to waste any of your precious time.

_Oh, he was in for it now. His dad had leaped to his feet, the alcohol making him unsteady but no less forceful, and Ray ran for it with the instinct of a cat who's just taunted a very angry dog. He made it to the stairs before..._

"Ray?" Ryan was watching him with concerned eyes, and he took a breath.

"He died the next day. I really didn't think much of it at the time, because, well...Bigger problems to worry about. But at the hospital, I realized...If it was just an average building plan, he wouldn't have cared if I'd seen it. He liked it when I took an interest in his work. So I thought..."

Geoff gripped the edge of his chair. "You think it might be what that Rosa chick wanted from him?"

"Well, I don't know. But I have no fucking clue what else it could possibly be. I just wanted to see it."

"So where is it?"

"All my dad's office stuff is in a storage unit in the industrial district. Probably in one of those boxes. But it wasn't the same as his other blueprints. The paper was different and I don't think his handwriting was on it." He wrinkled his brow, trying to see through a fog of memory and fear.

"Well, shit, now I'm really curious. Should I pick it up?"

"We can all go," Ryan said pointedly. "I don't think they hand out the keys to those units to just anyone."

"Good point. You up for it, Michael?"

"Geoff, you know me. Always up for a spot of graverobbing." Too late he caught sight of Ray's face. "Shit. That came out bad, I'm sorry."

Ray shook his head. "Nah, it's all good."

* * *

Of them, only Ryan really knew the reason behind Ray's second surgery, though he had an inkling that Geoff and Jack probably at least suspected. Ryan had an idea that very little got past those two, much as it appeared otherwise, and God knew that Geoff had taken dozens of children from terrible homes. To Michael and Gavin, it was just another surgery to fix up a few things that went wrong in the first one. Ray hadn't told them the truth and Ryan didn't think he ever would. Some things you just kept to yourself. They were old scars from another time, inflicted on someone who was very different from the person you were now.

They were digging through boxes of old blueprints and invoices, and Ryan despite himself couldn't help but admire Ray Senior's conscientiousness. He seemed to have kept records of everything, his  _coyotaje_ work carefully buried beneath the weight of numbers and innocuous sentences about employees. There was also a note that Geoff found extremely interesting-- _L. has doubled his figure. Tell R. to sell out._ According to him, it was proof that Rosa was in with the cartels.

With so much paper to sift through, it was nearly an hour before Gavin triumphantly held up a large architect's sheet. Ryan instantly grasped what Ray had meant when he'd said the paper was different. It was blue-tinged in comparison to the crisp white stuff they'd been scanning, and the handwriting was much less formal than Ray Senior's almost computational print. They all crowded around it. The writing might have been untidy, but the drawing itself was perfect, the sharp lines detailing some sort of large building with a very well-guarded vault...

For a little while nobody spoke.

"Son of a bitch! Son of a _fucking_ bitch!" Geoff threw up his hands. "I don't believe it. I cannot fuckin' believe this. This is..."

"What? I don't understand!" Ray protested.

"Actually, it kind of makes sense," Ryan said thoughtfully. "You got your info from a man inside the bank right? Well, if there's anything I've learnt, it's that if a man's willing to sell out once, he'll be willing to do it again. Only Ray Senior seems to have put a bit more thought into his heist than you."

"It's even got the security cameras marked on it, look." Michael looked awestruck, as though the Holy Grail had just floated above the desk. "It has  _everything."_

"Uh, does anyone mind explaining to me what the fuck is going on?" Ray demanded.

"Your  _father_ ," Geoff said, pointing at Ray accusingly as though it were his fault, "has just gone and gotten himself a perfect replication of the blueprints for the bank we've been planning to rob. Do you have any idea what we can do with the sort of info? Fuck me!"

It took a moment to sink in. "Are you telling me that my dad was going to hold up a bank?"

"Actually,  _sneak in_ is probably a bit more accurate." Ryan followed a line with his finger. "Looks like they were going to cut the elevator wires, then abseil down the shaft before tunneling into the vault and ripping open the safety deposit boxes. See, he's written down the shifts of the guards, and what cameras he needed to disable. How very  _Ocean's Eleven."_ _  
_

"Are we going to do that, now, then?" Gavin inquired, looking at Geoff.

"Well..." Geoff sat down. "He hasn't gotten any plans for disabling the security cameras. Maybe he just wasn't up to that yet. We still need someone to jam them and communications..."

Before Ray even realized it, he found himself speaking. "I think I can do that."

They all looked at him, bewildered. Their confusion was no less than his own. Had he really just offered to help them in their bank heist?

Wait a minute, who was he kidding? Of course he was fucking helping them! They'd done so much for him and shit, he needed money.

"I'll need to get into their security system. Then I can run a code...well, a worm...that'll keep replicating itself and spreading until it totally fucks up the server by getting too big for the computers to handle. It won't disable the cameras _per se_ , but it'll mean they sure as shit won't be able to access the footage." He couldn't help but smile a bit at the thought of the horrified look of his computer science teacher.

"They'll be sure to have antivirus, though," said Geoff.

Ryan put his hand up. "I'll handle that."

"X-Ray's joining the crew!" Gavin whooped.

"You sure, Ray?" Geoff asked. "This is major shit. You get caught doing this, you could go to jail for eternity. You on board?"

Ray met his eyes calmly, and took another deep breath. "I owe you."

"No, you don't. Let us use these blueprints, and we'll be more than even."

"Fine then. I want money."

Geoff's face broke into a grin. "See, you're an American after all." He stuck out a hand. "Welcome to the crew."

* * *

 

Ray opened the door, expecting it to be Geoff, who had gone out with Michael and Gavin earlier. It wasn't.

"Dude, when is Geoff just going to give you a key?" he said weakly, stepping aside to let Ryan through. He had a large package slung over his shoulder in a strange flashback to the second time they'd met.

"I like knocking. It feels polite." Ryan sat down on the couch and put the parcel on the table. "Here, for you."

"How'd you know it was my birthday?" he teased, sitting next to him. Seeing Ryan's look, he added hurriedly, "Only joking."

"Consider it a welcoming present from everyone. They all chipped in."

Ray unwrapped the parcel carefully, and...

..."It's a gun," he said.

Ryan stared at him with the expression a Formula One driver might have given to someone who'd pointed to his Ferrari and said "Oh, that's a strange-looking car."

Ray tried again. "It's pink."

"It's a sniper rifle," Ryan said with a hint of acerbity. "One of the best models in the business."

Ray lifted it up. It felt good in his hands, warm and powerful. Pure death concentrated in a few cylinders of metal. "What do I do with it?"

"Normally, it's for killing people. But it also makes a fairly good coat hanger."

"Funny. I mean, what am  _I_ going to do with it?"

Ryan decided to let him off the hook. "You have a good hand and a steady eye, according to Geoff. We'll be needing someone to keep an eye on what's going up top, and, if needed, take appropriate action."

"What--woah, you seriously mean kill people? I don't think I can do that, man!"

"We'll be leaving it up to your own judgement. If all goes well, you won't be needing to hurt anyone. Mostly that sniper rifle is just a very expensive telescope. You wait on the roof, and if you see someone, you buzz us."

"What about the code?"

"You make it. I'll input it. I know my way around technology, and if I can't do it, Gavin will."

Ray dropped his eyes back to the sniper. "It's pink," he said again.

"I actually think it kind of suits you. But our options were a bit limited, to rustle you up one of these so quickly."

He couldn't keep a smile from his face. Someone had actually bought him a top-of-the-line sniper rifle. "I love pink, man."

Ryan smiled in response, and for a while the two of them sat in peaceful silence before Ray spoke again.

"Look, whatever happens...I just wanted to thank you. For making me have the surgery. It was worth it."

"I didn't make you do anything, Ray."

"I know, but..." Hesitantly he reached out and cupped Ryan's cheek. "Thanks, man." He leaned in and kissed him.

Ryan responded to the kiss instantly, encircling Ray within his arm and pressing close. Ray parted his lips a little and felt Ryan gasp, felt his hand slip down his side to the strip of skin between his shirt and waist. The sensation was electric and he gently pushed Ryan's hand further up his shirt, letting him trace the muscle and scars with his fingertips. He put his own hand on Ryan's leg, placing gentle pressure on the inside of his thigh.

Ryan pulled free of the kiss to look at him, his lovely blue eyes dilated. "We can't do this here," he said hoarsely. "What if they come in?"

Ray wanted to say something along the lines of "give them a real show" but out of kindness he merely pulled Ryan up and towards his bedroom.

 


	14. Danger And Play

"All set, you two?" Jack asked as Ray and Ryan hopped into his car. The night air was cool and clouds hung heavy over Los Santos; the scent of rain was on the wind.

"You know it," said Ray, though his pulse was fluttering. Ryan leaned into him and wrapped an arm around his side, and he couldn't help but smile a little.

"What is it?" Ryan queried.

Ray shook his head. "I was just thinking...If you'd told me three months ago that I'd one day rob a bank with the plans my coyote dad had made before running to Switzerland with my mask-wearing criminal boyfriend..."

Jack chuckled from the driver's seat. "Does sound pretty weird when you put it like that."

And yet, the decision in and of itself hadn't been weird. What was there for him in America, really? College? He could go to college anywhere. And he'd be always living in fear of that knock on the door and a party van in the street. Besides, it was more about what wasn't going to be in America.

"Why am I driving, anyway?" Jack asked of Ryan. "Where's your rice rocket?"

"It is not a rice rocket," Ryan replied with all the dignity he could muster. "It's a damn sight sturdier than your lump of crap. To answer your question, it's being shipped to Switzerland. Ordering it in from overseas would be a real bitch."

"Wow, you're optimistic. What'll you do if this goes south and we can't leave?"

"If that's the case, I think my car will be the least of my worries."

Ray looked out the window at the streetlights streaked by. He would miss the city, he realized at last. Not a lot. But some.

"Pull in here," Ryan ordered after a while, and Jack obeyed, turning into a car park opposite the bank.

"There's security cameras," Ray pointed out.

Jack shrugged. "Not really a problem. The licence plate's fake anyway, and we'll be wearing masks. Speaking of which..."

Ray felt in the seat pocket in front of him and pulled out a Venetian-style white mask, ornamented with tiny gold flowers.

"Ryan can keep his creepy skull mask if he wants, but these breathe better and it'll be easier to speak," said Jack. He got out of the car, keeping his back to the cameras, and called Geoff.

Ray turned to Ryan. "Why  _do_ you wear that mask? I asked you once, but you didn't answer."

Ryan leaned back in his seat. "It just became habit. I wore it once to hide my identity, and quickly realized that people were much more frightened of me and willing to do what I want with it on. The mask...It gave me a reputation. Rumors were started. Some of them were true. Some not." He blinked, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "This might be the last time I ever have to wear it."

"Is that good or bad?" Ray wanted to know.

He thought it over for a little while. "Well, I liked being in control," he admitted. "I liked my contractors to be a little bit scared of me, because it meant they were less likely to betray me or not pay."

"So...it's bad?"

"But I hated scaring you. And I hated people like Jack judging me, my real self, just because of some dumb, probably untrue shit they heard about me. The mask made him--and others--more willing to believe that stuff."

"You're not really answering the question."

"I don't think it's good or bad. It's just...a thing. Over now."

Jack got back into the car. "Geoff is close. He says to get Ray up top."

Ray looked up to the high, high skyscrapers surrounding the bank and couldn't help but swallow a little. He wasn't really afraid of heights, but damn if that wasn't a long way to fall.

"You won't be actually  _on_ the roof," Jack reassured him, and handed over a keycard. "That'll get you through the door and the elevators. Just pick a floor with a balcony facing the bank. You know how to handle that sniper?"

"Yeah." It was in pieces at the moment, safely stored in a briefcase. "Where'd you get this?"

The lawyer grinned. "One of the few perks of going  _pro bono_ for folks who often work as off-the-books janitors is that you can get keycards to nearly anywhere you want."

Ray hadn't thought about it that way. "Huh. Where will you guys be?"

"Right here, waiting for Geoff," Ryan said, and pulled out a present of his own. "Walkie-talkie headphones. Gavin's going to be jamming communications, but he'll be leaving a radio frequency open for you to talk to us if need be." He slid them over Ray's ears and couldn't help but smile.

"Do I look stupid?"

"You look cute," he assured him. "Don't forget the mask."

"Oh, right." Ray pulled it over his face. The light of the streetlamps gave it a spectral glow. "Really does a number on your peripheral vision."

"You'll only need it in the building proper," Jack told him. "Once on the balcony, you can take if off. Until you go back down, of course."

"I'll be off, then." He hesitated, then threw his arms around Ryan, who pressed his face into his shoulder.

"Don't die," Ray whispered fiercely in his ear. "You're more important than the money."

"Aww, that's sweet," Ryan teased him. "You stay in touch with us, all right?"

Ray gave him a mock salute before walking across the parking lot towards the building.

* * *

 

"Ray's in position?" Geoff asked pretty much as soon as he got out of the car.

In response, Ryan pointed up. It was just possible, if you looked closely, to see the tiniest dot of pink against the glowing glass of the skyscraper.

"Hope there's not any nosy cleaning staff up there," said Michael, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

"There shouldn't be. I paid 'em pretty well to stay away," Jack replied.

"Time's wasting, then. Gavin, have you scrambled communications?"

Gavin raised his own backpack. "I've got the phone jammer in here, but I'll need to leave the radio scrambler outside. It's too heavy."

"Dump it in the car," Jack suggested, unlocking the car door. Gavin pulled a large box out of his bag and dropped it on the seat before fiddling with a few switches.

"Mind if I turn the radio on?" he asked of Jack, who nodded. With a turn of the dial, the air was suddenly filled with an intensely irritating high-pitched whine.

"Nothing getting through that," Michael grinned, satisfied, as Gavin shut it off. Ryan took out his phone and tried to call Ray. He was rewarded with an instant  _line is busy._

"Now that is  _top_ ," Gavin said.

Geoff ruffled his hair, the pride on his face obvious. "All right, crew, mask up. We're going into this bitch dry. Jack, meet us on the opposite end." As per usual, he was the driver, with a nondescript yet fast car parked down the street, and he started towards that.

Ryan slipped the black skull mask over his face, and took several deep breaths to steady his heart. A USB with Ray's code on it was safe around his neck. He felt reasonably sure that once they destroyed the security systems they would be home safe, but a lot of things could go wrong between there and here.

They edged into the garbage alley next to the bank. There were security cameras here, too, but according to the plans they were mainly for show. Ryan noted that they weren't in particularly strategic positions, and it was fairly easy to stick to the shadows and stay out of their reach. 

"Michael?" Geoff whispered. The young man grinned, showing a flash of white teeth, and pulled out a grappling hook. He took careful aim and shot straight up. The hook snagged onto one of the metal bars enclosing the highest window,

and Michael retracted the claws of the hook to form a strong metal cage around the bars. He gave it several fierce tugs, then nodded as the hook held steady. Pulling on his harness, he began the long climb upwards to the top.

Ryan watched him. The bank was seven floors, nowhere near as tall as the massive buildings surrounding them, but nevertheless he felt a slight twinge in his extremities at the thought of dangling over that drop. They'd all practiced rock-climbing in the weeks leading up to the heist, but it was one thing to practice and another thing to do it for real.

Michael made the climb safely, swinging himself from the iron bar onto the roof. He found a more secure prop to fasten the rope to and dropped the other end back down along with the harness. One by one, they all followed him, until Ryan, who went last, pulled himself over the ridge and onto the roof. Up here, the city sprawled before them in a maze of white and orange light. Ray was easier to see from up here, and on impulse Ryan flicked the headset on.

"All right there?" he asked.

"All good, except I nearly pissed myself watching you guys scale that wall. Glad I didn't have to do it."

"That's why they pay us the big bucks," Ryan agreed solemnly, and turned back to work.

The entry/exit from the roof to the building proper was a locked door followed by a flight of stairs leading to the lift. Geoff flicked his torch on and stooped to pick the lock, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.

"Done," he said proudly, and pushed the door open. "See, kids, lockpicking is still a very valuable skill."

"We could have just busted the door down," Gavin pointed out. "It's not armed."

"Someone might have heard. This is safer."

 There were no cameras on the stairs, so they wasted no time in getting to the lift. Ryan took one door, Geoff the other, and between them they pulled the elevator doors open and stared into the yawning abyss, lined in cold white metal.

"There's a ladder," Michael said, sounding almost disappointed that they wouldn't have to abseil.

Gavin stuck his head between them to peer into the shaft. "Bit dark down there, isn't it? You sure that lift isn't just going to come shooting up and squash us flat?"

"The shaft's wider than the lift, stupid, they wouldn't want any maintenance workers to accidentally be killed if the box decided to plummet." He hoisted himself onto the ladder. "And anyway, who the fuck would be calling a lift at this time of night?"

"Remember, security's on the second floor," Geoff said, "and from now on, we have to be quiet. This shaft's echoey as dicks."

They all nodded, and began to climb down the ladder. Ryan felt the same nervousness flutter in his stomach. They were coming up to the most risky part of the heist, where they would have to infiltrate the building proper. After hours of extensively studying the plans, they had designed a route which, if exactly followed, would shield them from  _most_ of the cameras. There was nothing they could do about the cameras closest to the security room, as they had to walk down an exposed hallway to reach it, so the plan was to simply rush the room and disable the guards. They held hopes that Gavin's communications jammers would prevent the police from being alerted, but if Ryan had learned anything it was that Murphy's Law was  _always_ in application. Then there was the possibility of a guard simply bumping into them on the way. Ryan had long ago decided to simply kill anyone who discovered them in this manner, but he'd not told Geoff this; he held a sneaking suspicion that he would have been stashed on the balcony with Ray if he had.

"Floor two," Michael whispered over the headset, and he shuffled aside to give Ryan the opportunity to open the set of doors. This was easier to do on the inside of the shaft, as he could simply pull one door across its railing and hold it open as the others squeezed through.

Ryan led the way, heart hammering, fingers hovering millimeters from his gun. This section of the bank was purely offices, with nothing more dramatic than security cameras, which they ducked, crawled and squeezed up against walls to avoid. They saw no-one, though once they heard the flush of a bathroom and a man clearing his throat. They approached the final hallway, looked at each other. It was a final confirmation; once they did this, there was no going back. Collectively they took a deep breath, and charged the door.

It was unlocked, and inside was a very surprised and plump man in an ill-fitting suit. He cried out in fear and flicked the hold-up switch, but no transmission would ever reach the police, not with all of Gavin's garbage clogging the airwaves. Michael grabbed him and wrapped him in a chokehold, squeezing tightly until the man went limp. He moved to tie the man to his chair and gagged him, while Geoff plucked a keycard from his pocket. "Sorry 'bout this, man," Michael told him dispassionately. "Hope you don't get fired."

"We have to move. Someone could have heard that scream," Ryan said tensely. He stood over the man's computer. He didn't have admin access, of course, but that was hardly a problem; Ryan had known how to jailbreak a computer since he was sixteen. He slotted in a bootable disc containing a rescue kit and restarted the computer, before simply blanking the administrative account. Then it was merely a matter of creating a quick dummy account and disabling the anti-virus, despite the computer's increasingly panicked protests. He plugged in Ray's USB, downloaded the worm, then stood back with a breath of relief. Any attempt to access the security footage quickly resulted in the entire computer crashing as its RAM overloaded.

"Right--let's go," Geoff led the way back to the lifts. Gavin left them at that point with the keycard in hand, going to call the lift up to a higher floor in order to give the crew access to the basement. Even this bank wasn't quite stupid enough to allow maintenance workers direct access to the vault, and the ladder cut out on the ground floor. Michael tied the rope to the lower rung and dropped it down the shaft, listening carefully for the  _dink_ that signified the metal clattering against the ground. Once he heard it, he nodded and strapped on his harness, using it to quickly abseil down the shaft. The rest of them followed with their own harness, save for Gavin, whose role was now reserved to manipulating the lifts.

The main crew jumped down into the basement, and beheld the vault door; a truly imposing structure of shining metal. For a brief moment they just admired the ingenuity that must have gone into its design--then Ryan pulled out his diamond-tipped drill, pulled on a dust mask, sheared through the shutter doors above the vault, and bored through the reinforced concrete that served as its roof.

"Dumbfucks," Geoff commented with satisfaction as the noise died down and Ryan slipped through the massive hole he'd drilled, the rest following.

"Ho-lee  _shit_ ," Michael breathed as they pulled off their dust masks. The walls were lined with safety deposit boxes; Geoff zoned in on them instantly, crowbar in hand, already breaking open the boxes. They followed his lead, and were soon shoveling piles of jewelry into their bags. The light from their torches glinted off emeralds, rubies, diamonds (much to Geoff's dismay)...Ryan occasionally had to pinch himself to remember that he wasn't dreaming.

"Success," he said over the headset to Ray, Gavin and Jack. "We're on our way up."

 

* * *

 

Ray had his sniper trained on the front doors when he heard Ryan's broadcast. He let out a deep, shaky sigh, and felt his body become about an ounce less tense.

Then he saw movement, and swung his scope to follow it. Two men, one young and fit, the other older and rather more plump, sprinting with all their might out of the building and down the street, phones in hand...

...As though they  _knew_ that they wouldn't be able to make a call from this block, and were getting the fuck somewhere else that they could.

...As though they  _knew..._

"Uh, guys?" he said over the headset. "We've got a slight problem..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have guessed, most of this heist was based on the real and successful Hatton Garden heist, though admittedly that wasn't really a bank.  
> Also, 300 kudos! Thank you again for all your support!


	15. What We Pretend To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long interval--first I had assignments, then exams, then I got a new job--but I should be able to finish this soon. Thanks for all your support.   
> The argument Ray remembers is a paraphrasing of Sam Harris's remarks from his wonderful book "Free Will", which I highly recommend to anyone interested in the study of consciousness.  
> Also I am aware that the bank named here is actually located in Vinewood in GTA5, but I figure I've taken so many liberties with geography in Los Santos that one more doesn't matter.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Gavin babbled through the headset. "They took the other elevator from another floor, I couldn't stop them--"

"Shoot! Ray, you've got to shoot!" snapped Ryan, ignoring Gavin, and Ray's fingers trembled on the gun.

Jack's panicked voice came back. "No! No killing! I won't be part of this!"

"Oh, for fuck's...they're gonna call the police, we're all gonna be fucked, Ray, shoot them, damn it!"

"Don't do it, Ray!" Geoff snarled. "We've got time--if we get the fuck out  _now--_ "

"Fuck that noise, I don't want to be in a cop chase!" Although ostensibly calm, there was an edge of hysteria in Michael's voice.

Ray could still see the two men easily through his scope, one of them already dialing a number. The rifle seemed icy cold in his hands.

_Do it,_ some part of him urged.  _You can hit them. Then you'll be home free._

"Ray?" Ryan's voice, urgent, probably wondering why he hadn't responded.

_Pull the trigger..._

He remembered once watching a news program about a mass shooting, where they had been discussing what made a seemingly normal young man decide to take up a weapon and unleash it onto a crowd of people. One of the experts had raised a point about the man's upbringing, how he had been both physically and sexually abused as a child.

_"Come on," the news anchor had said, almost dismissively, "that's so trite these days, that he turned evil because he had a bad home life."_

_"Trite, but true," the expert had replied somberly. "We can only learn from what we experience, and what did he learn from his experiences except violence and cruelty? That it was okay to hurt people when he felt angry or sad?"_

_"But that takes free will out of the equation, doesn't it? We can never do anything except other than what was done to us?"_

_"Perhaps it does. If you or I stood in that man's shoes--no, more than that, we_ were  _the man, cell by cell, with his every thought and feeling and experience--would we have acted any differently?_ Could  _we have acted any differently?"_

Ray pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit exactly where he aimed it, some ten feet away from the two men, causing the fitter one to scream and drop his phone. Sparks flew up from the gouge it left in the pavement.

"Better run," he said crisply though the headset.

"Did you shoot?" Michael demanded.

"This is the financial district. It's closed at night. There's no bars nearby, no troublemakers, so there'll be no police patrolling. It'll take at least twenty minutes for his call to go through and for the police to assemble a force and get here. You have time to get away--if Jack meets you at the front door, and if you run."

"That's a  _no,_ then."

"I'm not killing people. I told you that." He heard Ryan sigh, just softly, and ignored it. He was already disassembling his sniper, quickly yet carefully packing it into the suitcase.

"Ray..." Geoff spoke in a huffing voice, indicating they were abseiling the lift shaft. "We won't have time to wait for you to avoid the cameras and come back down. You'll have to make your own way home."

Ice-cold fear chilled his gut, and yet what else could he do? "All right."

"Get down and go in the opposite direction from us until you reach a bus station. Don't call a cab, it'll be too suspicious, and keep your hoodie off. Don't give anyone any cause to remember your face. We'll call you once we're safe."

"Good luck," Ray replied, feeling as though he was a thousand miles away.

"Ray--" That was Ryan; he hesitated, then seemed to discard whatever he'd been about to say. "All right. Do your thing. Just...just be careful, please."

He smiled, just a little. "I will, man." Then he pulled the headset off, wiped it down, then tossed it off the edge of the building before hurrying down to the lifts.

* * *

 

 Geoff pulled the lift doors open and they jumped out into the lobby, which must have looked splendid when seen in bright light, with white marble and tastefully arranged pot plants. There was a  _ding_ from the other elevator and Gavin followed, his face pale and set.

"This is all my fault--if they catch us--" he said hoarsely.

"Shut  _up,_ Gavin, let's just go!" Michael snapped, dragging him towards the door. Heavy bars clung forbiddingly to its side, but Ryan was in no mood to be halted; he pulled out the drill and slashed through them. Now there was only the glass left, and he kicked at it, putting in all his frustration at Ray and Geoff and the fat idiot that they should have killed. The glass cracked, shuddered, and shattered, while alarms began to blare behind them. 

They charged towards Jack's car, Ryan limping slightly, and piled in. Jack slammed on the accelerator and they took off, tyres squealing. Ryan tried to work out how long it had taken them to climb back up the shaft and break through the doors. Fifteen minutes, maybe? They could already hear the wailing of police sirens, although they were distant.

"Drive normally, Jack," Geoff said after a few minutes. "Don't want to be pulled over for speeding." The notion was so absurd that Jack and Michael both giggled, and some of the tension between then snapped.

"Where to?" Jack asked.

"My house, I guess. Where else?"

"And what about Ray?"

"We'll get home, drop off the loot, then me and Ryan will go and find him."

Ryan nodded and didn't respond. Geoff looked at him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Are you seriously pissed off that we didn't murder anyone?"

"Wait until we're safely in Switzerland before you start mocking me, thanks," he answered tightly.

"Paranoid fuck." Geoff shook his head. "He's young, Ryan, he hadn't held a gun until a few weeks ago. He was never going to kill anyone."

"I know that." Well, part of him did, anyway.

* * *

 

"Any idea what's going on back there?" the bus driver asked curiously as Ray paid for his ticket. He meant the ever-louder howl of sirens from the background.

He shook his head. "Nah, man, no clue."

Perhaps he should elaborate--maybe make up something explaining why he was out so late--but the bus driver just shrugged and handed over the ticket. "This city. If it's not one thing, it's another. Wonder who's been murdered this time?"

Ray sank into his seat gratefully, his legs aching. He'd walked for miles until he'd found a bus stop he thought was far enough from the bank to be safe. His physical discomfort was small compared to the mental strain. He'd clung to the shadows, ducking and hiding every time a police car went by, certain that  _this_ car would be the one to land its headlights on him and a cop would pin him down and open the case...

Part of him wanted to abandon it somewhere. It was enormously risky to wander about with it, especially when the police must know that a sniper was used and they'd be able to match the bullet to his rifle. But at the same time, if he were to get rid of it, that meant he'd either have to travel with it until he found somewhere to stash it safely, which somewhat defeated the purpose, or he'd have to dump it, which probably meant he'd never see it again. He just had to hope that no-one would think it too odd to see an eighteen year old with a briefcase so late at night. At least the bus was almost empty; aside from himself and the driver, there was only a couple of half-asleep travelers who paid not the slightest bit of attention to him.

Now he had space to breathe and think, he had to work out where to go. He had a vague idea of how to get to Geoff's house using public transport, but that would require him entering a large station sure to be filled with people, even at this time of night, and more importantly, police. They might be rather more interested in his briefcase than the bus driver.

_My college,_ he decided.  _The library._ It would be closed to the public at this time, but he still had his student ID, and as he hadn't officially dropped out yet there was no reason why it wouldn't let him in. He could hide out, pretend to be studying, until he got Geoff's call. Best of all, he knew he could get there without going anywhere too public.

* * *

"Well, it could have gone smoother," Michael said as he slumped down onto the couch, "but on the whole, I think we did pretty fucking awesome."

"Amen," said Geoff, holding up a whiskey glass. Ryan was watching him impatiently, wanting to go straight out and look for Ray, but Geoff had point-blank refused to do anything without something to settle his nerves.

Jack turned on the radio in his phone, and they leaned in around it.

_"--This is still breaking, so it's difficult to get the full picture, but from what we can make out the_   _Pacific Standard Public Deposit Bank appears to have been robbed, with the safety deposit boxes emptied. Reports are that shots have been heard, but this is unconfirmed and there are no accounts of injuries. The perpetrators are unknown and are believed to be in the wind. We're expecting a statement from the police and bank officials in a little while, but in the meantime, stay away from downtown Los Santos, folks, as the roads have been blocked."_

"It's just like a movie," Gavin said with awe.

"Yeah, but unlike a movie, we've still got problems," Jack said grimly. "Finding a way to deposit the cash in a way that won't raise every alarm bell Interpol has--"

"Jack, you're being negative. Knock it off." Geoff poured out another glass and pushed it towards him. "We're millionaires, you sons of bitches! Switzerland, here we come!"

"Have you even booked the tickets yet, Geoff?" Michael inquired.

"Micheal, that's being negative."

"Well, not really--"

Ryan stood up, unable to bear it any longer. "I'm getting Ray."

"You're not going on your own, we've been over this!" Geoff snapped.

"I'll go with him," Michael said with a sigh, pulling himself up. "Don't worry, Geoff, I'll make sure he doesn't put a bullet through anyone."

* * *

 

"Burning the midnight oil, huh?" said the red-eyed library assistant, surrounded by empty cups of coffee.

"Assignments and tests," he replied. "Too noisy to study in my apartment."

She nodded in empathetic understanding. "At least I'm getting paid to be here. Will you need a computer?"

Ray shook his head and gestured with his briefcase. "Got one."

She waved him through, and he went up the stairs and crashed straight onto the nearest couch, closing his eyes. After about ten minutes where his mind drifted, his phone rang, and he picked it up.

"How's things, Ray?" Ryan asked softly, and relief cascaded through him.  _Everything's all right._

"I'm not in jail, so I'd say fantastic," he said dryly. "What about you?"

"We're all safe and at Geoff's house. Michael and I are coming to get you. Where are you?"

"My college. Go to the parking bay by the library. Only I'm supposed to be studying, so I might wait a while before I meet you at the car."

"No problem," Ryan said. "See you in a bit."

About forty-five minutes later, Ray said his goodbyes to the assistant, who seemed to be a few moments away from falling asleep sitting up and only mumbled a response. The night seemed blissfully fresh and clear and he sucked in a breath.  _We did it. We actually did it._

"How's it going, Ray?" Michael waved at him from the car. Ray stopped to give him a quick hug before pressing his face up against Ryan, who kissed the top of his head and held him for a long moment.

"Thank God you're safe," Ryan murmured.

"Course I'm safe. You were the ones in danger."

"Yeah, but we're used to dodging cops. God, I just..." He took a deep breath and looked pointedly at Michael, who got the hint and wandered off.

"I'm not going to apologize for not killing someone," Ray said bluntly, wanting to clear the air straight away.

Ryan was silent for a little bit. "No. You're right, you shouldn't. You're not a killer. I just...I only wanted you to be safe."

"I bet those guys had people who only wanted him to be safe, too."

"I don't care about him," Ryan said with a hint of asperity. Then he sighed again. "I know I seem callous, but if I cared about the lives of each and every person who crosses my path during a crime I'd be dead or in prison a long time ago. You did a good and noble thing, but it wasn't the right thing. Not rationally speaking. It put us all at risk, for the sake of two strangers."

"I think we're just going to have to agree to disagree on that," Ray told him. "Besides...Do you seriously think this sort of situation will ever happen again?"

Ryan gave him the ghost of a smile that temporarily brought light into his lovely eyes. "No, I don't think so. Let's get to Geoff's. I have a feeling that everyone there is about to get very drunk and stoned and I don't want to miss it."

Ray chuckled. "Is it a bad thing if I just want to go home and play some games?"

"Not at all. You can destroy us in  _Call of Duty_  if you like. Ray Vs. The Crew."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed as Michael joined them in the car.


	16. Epilogue

It was dawn.

Normally Ray didn't like getting up that early, but it was worth it, to feel the serenity of the botanic gardens without any tourists around. Strictly speaking they wouldn't be open for another hour, but nobody really cared if you went in early. The morning was crisp--it never really got warm in Zurich, not even in summer--but he was well wrapped up and the air was still. He watched the sunlight stretch its gentle fingers over the smooth domes, and, as if waiting for that signal, a breath of perfume rose from the flowers and floated across the little streams towards him. He submerged himself in the beauty of nature for all of five minutes, then pulled out his 3DS and begun playing.

"Found you," said a deep voice with amusement from behind him.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Congratulations, detective." But he smiled too.

Ryan sat down beside him with a slight huff of annoyance at the dewy grass. Ray leaned against him and together they watched the sun rise a few more inches in the sky.

"Thought any more about going back to college?" Ryan asked eventually.

"I'll go eventually. Right now I don't speak the language well enough. _Mein Deutsch ist schrecklich._ Maybe next year, when I can understand what the guys on the TV say."

"And you'll do what? Computer design again or whatever it was you used to do?"

"Nah. I want to do something more fun and less hard. Something video-game related."

"Maybe you could tag on to Geoff and Jack's idea," Ryan suggested. "You know how they've started doing game commentary? It's taking off. And Michael's joining them too. His Rage Quit videos are getting huge numbers of views."

"I don't know if I'm funny enough for that."

"You are," Ryan assured him. "Anyway, it's not like it needs to become popular. Not with the money we got from the heist. It's just for a bit of fun. I'm helping them edit their videos."

Ray tried to bring the image of this Ryan, who sat with him in the botanic gardens and discussed Let's Plays and universities, with the Mad King, who wore a skull mask and begged Ray to shoot people. It was becoming harder and harder. Maybe that part of him was gone forever, except when they played games together. Then he was occasionally just... _weird._

And himself? He felt better. At peace. As though he'd left all the bad stuff behind him. Like a new person.

They weren't totally cut off from America. Burnie and Caleb and some of the others had elected to remain, as had Lindsay, eventually, although she still dropped by to visit. They said people still talked about the grand heist, that the police still had no idea who had done it. The criminals knew, though. Geoff and his crew had become legend. Elsewhere, though, life went on. Gangs rose and fell, the cartels took over, and Los Santos teetered on that strange edge between stability and anarchy.

He missed it in some ways. He missed being warm, and he wasn't exactly fond of all this rain and snow that kept creeping up on him. But there was no real reason why he couldn't go back, just for a visit. See his old apartment. Burn the last of his dad's stuff. Sit on top of Mount Chiliad and remember the way things used to be. Before he'd met...

His phone buzzed, and he looked down to see Gavin's name, along with a demand to play  _Battlefront._ "It's not even six in the morning," he complained.

"You're very predictable, Ray," chuckled Ryan.

"Yeah, whatever." He climbed to his feet and stretched. "You know, I think I will give that Achievement Hunter thing they've got going on a shot. Achievements are my bag, after all."

...Gavin and Michael and Geoff and Jack and, of course...He kissed Ryan lightly, who always blushed slightly when he did that. It was adorable. "Maybe you should think about commentating, too."

"Eh...I'll see how it goes."

Ray brushed the dampness off his knees and set off down the path, his fingers moving across the keypad to send a message to Gavin.

_LLLLLLLLLLET'S PLAY!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've come to the end! Tremendous thanks to all the people who have supported the story over the months and left feedback. You're all wonderful. I never expected for a second for this to get any of the attention it did.
> 
> I'm not sure what I'm going to work on next. I am going to finish my other fic first, but beyond that I have no idea. What do you think? Should I stick to AH stories or branch out? Maybe do some one-shot prompts from people?
> 
> Best of luck to you all in the New Year, and thanks again!


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